


The Adventures of Tigger and Eeyore

by Forestwater



Series: You Don't Spell It, You Feel It [1]
Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, except the last chapter, just so much fluff everywhere, that's just straight-up PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-08-18 11:16:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 39,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8160244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forestwater/pseuds/Forestwater
Summary: He wasn't a Time Lord, or a vampire, or even the ghost of an English duke. But he had big eyes and big hands and a smile that was earnest and quietly devastating, if you were into that kinda thing. Besides, he was the only person in half a mile older than 15 and younger than 50. So what if he was a little insane? She wasn't all that normal either. (GwenxDavid)





	1. "Oh, you're gonna love her!"

**Author's Note:**

> I noticed there is nowhere near enough Camp Camp fanfic, and certainly not enough love for Gwen and David. So I had to fill a void with shipping excitement!
> 
> This was beta'd by the lovely and talented R.A. Enbows, who you can find at http://raenbowsofficial.tumblr.com. They are wonderful and exceedingly talented, and you should go give them all the love you have in your beautiful hearts!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's gotta start somewhere.
> 
> Ch. 1 quote from: Camp Camp episode 1, "Escape from Camp Campbell"

"Gwen?" A tentative hand touched down on her shoulder.

"Wha?!" She jerked her head out of her book with a noise somewhere between a snarl and a yelp, whipping around with the book clutched to her chest and her free hand curled up into a claw.

" _Aaagh I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry!_ " Her attacker nearly tripped over himself as he scrambled away from her, ducking into a half-crouch and raising his hands in front of his face.

Great. She hadn't even started and she was already terrifying the campers. Maybe it was time to just head back to that creepy bus driver and —

No! She was better than this. She _wasn't_ going to quit, not her first job out of college. She just had to stop . . . being so fucking weird all the time.

Gwen sat up straight and squared her shoulders, taking a deep breath and trying to arrange her face into something that wouldn't scare children. "No, I'm sorry," she said, wondering if her voice sounded that fake outside of her head. "I was just . . . startled. You caught me reading." She laughed and tried to run a hand through her hair nonchalantly, but her fingers caught in a mass of tangled curls. She tugged at them to no avail. "Sorry, I should've been paying better attention."

The kid had peeked out from between his fingers while she was talking, and once he'd decided she wasn't a monster, he sprang to his feet like he'd been fired from a cannon. "That's right! These woods can be dangerous, and until you're a trained counselor, you really need to keep your guard up!" He bounced on the balls of his feet, then rocked back to his heels and back again. "But this place will feel like home in no time!"

She tilted her head back, her mouth hanging open slightly. _Tall kid,_ she thought. _Puberty hits earlier and earlier, huh? Maybe it's all those hormones in eggs . . . should I stop eating eggs?_

The boy smacked his forehead, distracting her from her meandering thoughts. ( _Get a grip, Gwen! We will_ not _have another repeat of high school._ ) "Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot to introduce myself! Sometimes I get carried away . . . You _are_ Gwen Santos, right? It's just we're expecting a new counselor, and since you showed up and you're counselor-aged, I just figured . . ." He trailed off, watching her with a nervous smile.

It took a second for her to realize that he was waiting for her to say something. "What? Oh, yeah, right. I'm Gwen. Sorry. Hi." She held out the hand that wasn't tangled in her hair, the angle awkward since she was still sitting on the ground.

Immediately her hand was engulfed in his, and he hauled her to her feet and swept her into a hug. "It's so nice to meet you, Gwen! I've been looking forward to having another counselor here for _so_ long, and I asked and asked Mr. Campbell if we could get someone else, and he finally said yes and now you're here and I'm just so excited!" As he spoke, his arms tightened around her ribs until she couldn't breathe, and he lifted her off the ground, swinging her from side to side. "You'll love it here — the campers are just the best, and Mr. Campbell . . . well, he isn't around all the time, but when he is it's such a huge honor. And he's here now just to meet you!"

"Kid," she choked, "kid, please let go of me."

"Oops!" He dropped her on the ground, catching her elbow as she stumbled. (Her center of gravity was a little thrown off by the hand attached to her head, and she was a little lightheaded from being partially strangled.) "I hope I didn't hurt you, did I, Gwen? We have an excellent Quartermaster here who does wonderful first aid, so just say the word and we'll get you fixed up right away!"

She held up her hand, yanking more determinedly at the other one; she definitely wanted full use of her limbs if she had to run away from this weirdo. "Really, I'm fine. Um . . . who _are_ you?"

He laughed, putting his hands on his hips and shaking his head. "Forgot again!" he said cheerfully, and she began to wonder if he was making fun of her. "My name's David. I'll be your fellow counselor here at Camp Campbell."

" _Counselor?_ " Gwen paused in her attempt to free herself, looking her new coworker up and down. He was a few inches taller than her, with long, gangly limbs ending in hands and feet that belonged on a man twice his size. It had been his skinniness that had thrown her off, she realized, the kind of skinny typically seen on eight-year-old boys and nineties supermodels. (She glanced at his arms for track marks, and then up at his nose; he seemed way too happy to be sober, and her sister swore up and down that there was nothing like cocaine to make you skinny. But he looked squeaky clean — like a Boy Scout, or someone in a cult.) "You've got to be kidding me."

"I don't kid!" He beamed at her, and again she couldn't figure out if he was being sarcastic or not. But his eyes — bright green and humungous, another reason he'd looked so young — were perfectly sincere. He pushed a flop of red hair out of his face ( _Edward Cullen hair_ , she thought automatically) and kept talking, but she was too busy trying to take him in.

He looked like a cartoon character. He _acted_ like a cartoon character. And he was seriously wearing a bandana around his neck — or was it an ascot? Her magazines didn't have much to say on camp fashion — and a tiny vest, and didn't seem to have any idea how uncool that was.

"Wait wait wait," she finally interrupted, "you're telling me that _you're_ in charge of this place?"

"Don't be silly! That's Mr. Campbell." He snorted and shook his head, like that was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. "Maybe someday, I mean, who knows what can happen someday, but not _now_. Of course not now. That'd be crazy."

Right, that made sense. She'd been interviewed over the phone by a Mr. Campbell (no first name given), who'd said he couldn't wait to meet her in person but that he'd be in Argentina for a few weeks (no reason given). The conversation had been tinny and scratchy, and kept breaking up due to poor cell reception, but she'd gotten a sense that her employer was . . . grand, somehow. Even when he cut their conversation short with a quick job offer and promises that he'd see her "as soon as things calmed down." Before she could even thank him, there'd been what sounded like gunshots and the line had gone dead, leaving her wondering what she'd gotten herself into. Three weeks later she'd gotten a postcard from Mexico that had a date and address on it, along with the cryptic phrase " _Campe Diem!_ "

And here she was, following the instructions of a man who may or may not have been murdered somewhere between the Gulf of Mexico and Lake Lilac. "So . . . am I ever going to meet this famous Mr. Campbell?" she asked, tugging on her trapped hand and tugging her hair hard enough to bring tears to her eyes.

"Absolutely! But — Gwen, do you need help with that?"

"With what?" _Why_ had she put on so much hairspray? Not only was it attracting bugs like crazy, but it had formed a glue that had fused her hair to her fingers, possibly forever. Who had she expected to impress with her not-quite-afro, anyway?

"Here, let me." David gestured for her to sit back down on the ground, and once she was settled he knelt down behind her. "You can't go on a tour like this — think of how tired your arm would get!"

"Right . . ." Her shoulders had tensed so much that they were nearly touching her ears, and she forced herself to relax as his fingers brushed at her hair. "I mean, you probably shouldn't, you'll get gunk on your hands — I mean, not _gunk_ like anything gross, but, like, hairspray and stuff . . ."

He laughed softly, working through her knots with surprising gentleness. "This is nothing. Every summer at least two of the campers get bubble gum in their hair. Talk about a mess!" She heard a plastic _twink_ by her ear and realized that he was twanging at her hair with a comb, each plink loosening up the worst of the tangles.

"Always be prepared, huh?"

"Always." She had to suppress a laugh at the seriousness in his voice. "You're going to have a lot of interesting new experiences here, Gwen, and you have to be ready for anything. But I know you'll love it! It's the best job in the world."

David's voice was so earnest and tender that it made her want to cry. When had she ever been that excited about . . . well, anything? Except trashy TV, but that was different. "How long have you been working here, anyway?"

"Four years, six months, and three-and-a-half days! I've been going here ever since I was a kid, and the summer I turned sixteen I was asked to be a counselor."

Whoa, he was only two years younger than her? "So, like, you were working here during college and everything?"

"I didn't go to college." Gwen cringed — another stellar social interaction from the girl voted Least Likely to Succeed at Anything in high school. This job was already going perfectly. "My parents really wanted me to, but . . . I have this job. Why would I want to do anything else? So instead I spent a year living in the woods after I graduated."

"That's . . . actually pretty cool." She couldn't imagine wanting to spend a day alone in the middle of nowhere, and anyone this excited about a summer job was definitely a little unhinged, but she'd always wished she was spontaneous and brave enough to do something crazy like that. "Wasn't it lonely, though?"

"The woods aren't lonely! I was too busy learning: how to make a fire, how to knit, how to follow animal tracks and grow vegetables and make drinking water out of mud puddles and fashion a splint out of sticks and hair and . . . well, everything!"

It felt like he was knitting her hair, or rather un-knitting it — teasing individual strands through knotted clusters until they were free from the tangle, then going back to rescue another. "But, like . . . what do you do the rest of the year?"

"Oh, lots of things!" He stopped his work to tick off his jobs on his fingers. "I work at a diner in the mornings, and at a call center in the afternoons, and then either the L.L. Bean or the nursing home at night. It's all very fun, but nothing like being back here!" Gwen wasn't inclined to call many things "very fun," but those all sounded more like the community service celebrities did to keep from going to jail than a good time. "My favorite thing is taking classes, though!"

"Like college classes?" Wait, was that rude? Was she assuming he went to college again, and was he going to be annoyed that she kept acting like she expected him to? It wasn't like she wanted to be David's best friend or anything, but it would be pretty bad to alienate the first person she met.

"Sometimes! Or at the YMCA, or the library, or the museum, or anywhere." He had made it into the thicket that held her captive, and gently began threading her index finger to safety. "The free ones are the easiest, of course, but I try to save up as much as I can so I can take a bunch of different classes. It gives me ideas for camp activities."

"That's really —"

"Ah, there we go!" He held her hand delicately in one of his, his fingers nearly swallowing up her palm, and with his other hand he combed her hair back into shape. "All better. And we didn't have to cut any of it!"

She took her hand from his and — gingerly — patted her fro. "Thanks, David."

"No problem!" He popped up to his feet and once again pulled her up. "Now come on, it's time for you to meet everyone!" As he dragged her off to a large building covered in peeling yellow paint, he called over his shoulder, "You're going to love it here, Gwen! I just know it!"

She was suspected he was wrong, but she couldn't help but want to believe him anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the only summer Gwen tried having an afro, by the way. She learned really fast that it was more trouble than it was worth, and cycled through a few unfortunate looks (pigtail braids, just leaving it down and letting it turn into a tumbleweed of knots, a variety of hats, bows, and headbands) until she replaced it with the ponytail/aviator hat we know and love today.


	2. "I was very innocent and impressionable back then!" "So . . . last week?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David and Gwen are a bit tied up at the moment. They use the time to talk about important things, like television shows.
> 
> Ch. 2 quote: Camp Camp episode 5, "Journey to Spooky Island"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was beta'd by the lovely and talented R.A. Enbows, who you can find at http://raenbowsofficial.tumblr.com. They are wonderful and exceedingly talented, and you should go give them all the love you have in your beautiful hearts! (Yeah, get used to this tag. As long as R.A. keeps editing chapters, I'm gonna keep using it.)

 

"David?"

"Hmm?"

"What are we going to do now?"

"That's an excellent question, Gwen!"

They were currently tied to the Camp Campbell flagpole during what David was optimistically calling Impromptu Mutiny Camp. No one had given Gwen a charger for the iPad they'd shoved in front of her face, so after every episode of _Prison Teen Mom Wars_ , she forced herself to pause the video with her nose and let the screen go dark. During one of these reluctant breaks, she'd noticed that David's face wasn't as red as she would've expected from spending three hours hanging upside down. "Hey, you doing all right down there?"

His back was to her, and they both had to crane their necks to see each other (dangerously risking the iPad's stability in Gwen's case), but he managed to beam his ridiculously-wide smile in her direction anyway. "I'm just fine! Harrison taught me a magic trick where you stop the blood from flowing to your head! He says Harry Houdini used it for when he had to escape from a trap much like this one." His grin dropped a notch. "He refused to show me how to perform the _escape_ part of the trick, but I really can't blame him for that — magicians can't give away their secrets, after all! And it _would_ really put a damper on their uprising if we freed ourselves. Wouldn't want to spoil their fun, even if I wish they'd found a less violent activity."

Normally Gwen would point out the ridiculousness of David caring about the campers having _fun_ with their insane takeover, but she was still trying to figure out the first part of what he'd said. "That . . . can't be possible."

He just shrugged, his face the exact shade it had been this morning, and she wondered — not for the first time — if Camp Campbell existed on a plane that defied the laws of reality, or if she was just slowly losing her mind. "Anyway," he continued, "I'm really not sure how we can get out of this. Max and the other campers did a great job tying these knots — and they must have been paying attention in Second Aid Camp, because none of these ropes are cutting off my circulation. I'm just so proud of them!"

She groaned and considered turning her show back on, but they were still several hours from being rescued, and if spending half an hour with nothing to do but talk to David was bad, ten hours would be even worse. _Do this for the battery_ , she told herself, resisting the temptation to give the iPad a kiss. _And for Shanjelah_. (She couldn't live if she didn't find out whether the fiery redhead with triplets and six months for unpaid parking tickets was going to hook up with the hot warden. And if Carol Mae, a single mom and former pageant queen brought up on assault charges for attacking Miss Alabama, was going to try and steal Symonae's — prostitute and mother of four — man. This show was so awesome!)

"But it'll be okay, because Mr. Campbell will be here to rescue us in just twenty-one hours! Hopefully he won't be too disappointed about the state of the camp, but . . . gosh, he's such a great guy, I don't think I've ever seen him mad!"

She'd never understood David's obsession with their boss. The first day she'd met him he'd struck her as insincere, neglectful, and selfish . . . which sounded like all of her ex-boyfriends, so of course she'd had an enormous crush on him for the first year and a half at the camp. It just so happened that the charm wore off a bit more every time she opened the counselors' safe and found another stack of their "budget" missing. But it was like David had blinders on or something. "What do you see in him, anyway? It's not like he's good at his job — you could run this camp better than he does. Hell, it looks like Max is doing a better job! At least we haven't had any shootouts with guys in suits!" His face was turned slightly away from her, but she could see his jaw tighten. It was as close as she'd ever seen him to looking annoyed, and despite herself she felt a thrill of excitement . . . and worry. What kind of angry would David be? Would he pull the "I'm not mad I'm disappointed, but actually I'm mad and will make you feel guilty until you apologize" thing, or would he go full-on serial killer?

Fortunately (or unfortunately) he did neither, and his tension dissipated with a sigh. "I know he's not perfect, Gwen. But ever since I spent my first summer here, there he's been. He's _Mr. Campbell_ — the reason this camp exists in the first place! And besides, he's an adventurer. So he gets into a _little_ trouble now and then. That's what adventurers _do_!"

"But don't you think sometimes he's a little less adventurous and a little more . . . you know, treasonous?"

"Perhaps," he admitted with a shrug. "But I'm sure he'll clear it all up as soon as he has time to really sit down and talk to us! Maybe I can cook a stew . . ."

"Yeah, that's another thing. Don't you think it's weird that he never has time to talk about our budget or the actual running of the camp he's supposedly in charge of? A budget and camp, oh by the way, that seems to hemorrhage money every time he visits?"

David laughed. "Come on, Gwen. We've been over this. Mr. Campbell explained it to me: he wouldn't steal from his own camp. He's just investing it, and will come back with ten times as much!"

"Right." There was no winning with this guy; he saw Cameron Campbell as somewhere between Superman and God, and there was nothing she could say to convince him otherwise. And what good would it do, anyway, to have both of them being resentful and stressed out? She might as well let David have his delusion.

"It's just like my dad would say," he continued. "Sometimes a man's got to roam, but it'll only be a few months, and then things will be better than they ever were. He always said that before he'd go on his business trips, and it always made me feel better! It's a shame he always seemed to get home while I was at camp . . . but that's how business is, I guess. And Mr. Campbell is a businessman, so I'm sure whatever he's doing is to make this camp the best it's ever been!"

Damn, that got dark. Maybe she didn't need _Prison Teen Mom Wars_ ; it seemed like there was plenty of drama tied to the pole with her. (Okay, no, that wasn't true, she'd always need her trash TV.) Phrases from her psychology degree came drifting up from her subconscious: _abandonment fears, repressed frustration at his parents, transference of attachment to a similarly neglectful father figure . . ._

But David had moved on before she could probe (or diagnose) any farther. "I know you and Mr. Campbell have your differences, but he'll come through for us in the end! And in the meantime we can spend some quality time together — w-wait, Gwen, what are you doing?!"

She sighed and paused the video before the title sequence had ended. She could see Shanjelah and Carol Mae were in the washrooms together, and there hadn't been a bathroom scene yet that _hadn't_ involved an attempted shanking . . . "Fine. But I'm turning it back on when that shadow hits our feet, and I'm going to watch at least three episodes."

"Deal!"

And for a few minutes they sat in silence, listening to the campers argue about who should be their new leader. "They're going to pick Ered," she said. "She's the character that starts out as everyone's favorite and eventually backstabs them all until she's the villain. And Max is the jerk nobody likes until he reveals he has a heart of gold. Basically he and Ered will switch places. Happens all the time."

"Gwen, while I appreciate that you also see the kindness in Max, there are no _villains_ in this camp! Camping is about togetherness and bonding, not about trying to ruin each other's lives!"

"So you've never seen _Survivor_ , huh?" The kids began cheering Ered's name over Max's annoyed (and ignored) dissent. "Told ya."

"That doesn't mean she'll become a villain. Not everything is like your shows."

"We'll see. Everyone loved Carol Mae until she started trying to steal their babies."

That stopped him for a moment. "I'm sorry, did you say she _steals babies_?"

"Prison life is rough when you're a teen mom. That's why there are wars. She also wants to fuck everyone's boyfriends so she can prove she deserved to win Miss Alabama over the girl who actually won. Or something like that."

He shook his head — his still-not-full-of-blood head, she noted. "I don't understand how you can watch that . . . that nonsense. It's violent, and everyone's so mean. Why do you like it?"

"Because it's violent and everyone's so mean!" Gwen considered shifting the iPad to the ground so David could watch, too, but she didn't think she could do that without either breaking it or having it fall out of her reach (or both). "It's like . . ." Now that she thought about it, what _did_ David enjoy? "I mean, it's exciting! And you get attached to the characters and want to see what happens to them. You get that, right?"

"Right . . ." He seemed to almost sulk, he was so reluctant to agree with her. "But —"

All right, this was getting ridiculous. She didn't judge him for constantly coming up with crazy camp activities, did she? (Okay, she did, but not to his face. Or at least not to his face every time.) She didn't need him making fun of her hobbies. "Okay, what do _you_ like to watch?"

"Hmm . . . well, I guess I like Bob Ross."

"Who's that?"

He gasped, and squirmed around to look at her with his eyes wide. "You've never seen _The Joy of Painting_?!"

"Nope." _Sounds boring_.

"Oh my goodness, we need to watch that as soon as we get things sorted out here! You'll love it, I promise — it's so peaceful and pleasant!"

Gwen didn't think she'd ever watched a show that could be described as either "peaceful" or "pleasant," but she'd never seen David this excited about something that didn't have the word "Campbell" associated with it. "Okay, I'll give it a shot. If you'll watch an episode of _The Bachelor_."

"What's that?" His head cocked to the side like a puppy, he glanced up at her with a smile.

"It's . . . a love story. Sort of."

"That sounds wonderful!"

"You'll enjoy it," she said, trying to readjust herself into a slightly more comfortable position and tapping her nose on the screen to bring the iPad back to life. "Now shh, I wanna see if Carol Mae gets stabbed in the face."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was brought to you by Apple. That's not true, but if I had a nickel for every time I wrote "iPad," I'd probably have enough money to buy Camp Campbell. (Okay, maybe that's not saying much.)
> 
> I had way too much fun coming up with a story for Prison Teen Mom Wars. And you know Shanjelah is the one who's basically the show's hero who will have at least 2 spinoffs (a family show and a dating one, possibly a third where she's in some sort of mentor/judge role); Carol Mae's the one who will try to have a singing career, fail, and then become the most famous of the entire cast because everyone loves to hate her; and Symonae is the sassy black woman everyone adores while the show is running and then immediately forgets once the season ends.
> 
> Also, David loved The Bachelor. They binged the entire series, and he cried every time someone was sent home.


	3. "We got ourselves an uprisin'!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's no such thing as downtime at Camp Campbell.
> 
> Ch. 3 quote: Camp Camp episode 4, "Camp Cool Kidz"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was beta'd by the lovely and talented R.A. Enbows, who you can find at http://raenbowsofficial.tumblr.com. They are wonderful and exceedingly talented, and you should go give them all the love you have in your beautiful hearts! (Yeah, get used to this tag. As long as R.A. keeps editing chapters, I'm gonna keep using it.)

"Gwen? _Gwen?!_ "

One of Camp Campbell's two acceptable counselors sat up with a groan, the book that she'd fallen asleep reading slipping off her face and onto the floor. David had promised her that he could handle the campers while she spent the afternoon in her room, trying to distract herself from her weekly bout of crippling anxiety and regret. (It was an improvement; her first few years at the camp had given her hourly panic attacks, but now she could watch the building fall around her ears without feeling the need to hug her degrees and cry.)

"GWEEEEENNNNN!" She stumbled to her feet as the door burst open, revealing Camp Campbell's other acceptable counselor. His eyes were wild, and it looked like some of his hair was singed at the ends, but he leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms, giving her a strained smile. "Sorry to barge in on you like this," he said coolly, like he hadn't just run in screaming, "but our campers have decided to expand on today's activity of making windchimes out of glass bottles. It's really quite impressive, you know . . ."

 _Oh, no_. She really should've checked with David to make sure whatever he had planned didn't include the 4 S's: Stab, Smash, Shatter, or Seriously Fuck Shit Up. Glass bottles fell under at least 3 of those categories.

"You see, Max was wandering around — I assume looking for pebbles and leaves to decorate his chimes with — when he stumbled on the gas can for the Quartermaster's boat. And then Neil decided to teach the campers that if they use the bottles and gasoline, they could take the windchime supplies and turn them into explosives!"

There was a _crash, fwoom_ , and the sounds of shrieking children. Above the cacophony she could hear Nikki: "BLOW UP THE KITCHEN NEXT!"

"And while I appreciate the science lesson, it looks like things have gotten a little out of hand. But you have to appreciate their creativity!"

When Gwen first met David, she'd assumed that everything he said was sarcastic. It turned out that no, he just really _was_ that positive about everything . . . which would be endearing if it didn't lead to things like this.

"The Quartermaster is doing an excellent job putting out the campers' tents, but I thought another pair of hands would really help. I know it cuts short your break, but it could be fun! Like roasting marshmallows in reverse!"

" _Christ_ ," she muttered, dropping her head in her hand. "Did you call the fire department?"

"Indeed I did, Gwen! But it might take them a while to get here, this place being so tucked away and all . . ."

She'd first started working here four years ago, straight out of college and convinced that this would be a great way to support herself while completing her novel. She'd figured that the camp would provide heartwarming stories for the eventual memoir about her life as a successful paranormal romance author.

She really hadn't expected the job to involve so many explosives.

22-year-old Gwen would've started crying and curled into the fetal position. 26-year-old Gwen took a deep breath and muscled past David, headed towards the source of the screaming. "LISTEN UP! PUT THE BOTTLES DOWN AND GET INTO THE FUCKING LAKE _RIGHT NOW!_ "

" _Language_ , Gwen!"

Ignoring David, she grabbed Space Kid by his helmet and threw him into the water. She wasn't great at herding the children, but the Quartermaster figured out what she was doing and abandoned the blazing supply shed to help. He had a pretty effective method: no matter how brave the campers thought they were, none of them were willing to face a pot-bellied old man running at them and shaking his hook while shouting incoherent obscenities. Shrieking loud enough to give her a headache (except for Ered, who was too cool to scream, and Nurf, who had taken the opportunity to throw Harrison off the dock like a javelin), they stampeded into the lake, leaving their impromptu Molotov cocktails to singe circles of black in the damp grass.

Nikki, Max, and Neil were the last to bail. As the Quartermaster hooked the back of Nikki's shirt and carried her toward the water — " _YOU HAVEN'T DEFEATED ME, VILLAINS! I'LL BE BACK!_ " — the boys walked without resistance alongside their counselors, looking around like it was a casual stroll instead of an evacuation.

"Happy?" she asked Max, watching David congratulate Neil on creating such an exciting project ("but _please_ be careful next time. Remember Fire Safety Camp!").

"Gwen, I'm _never_ happy. But is this as close as it gets to fun in this hellhole? Yeah, pretty much."

And she had to admit, leaving the Quartermaster to intimidate the kids into obedience while she and David put out Ered's cardboard halfpipe, that Max kind of had a point.

From a camper's perspective, anyway.


	4. "Why do you always have to make things weird and complicated?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David takes Gwen out into the woods in pursuit of a brilliant idea. They actually manage to find one.
> 
> Ch. 4 quote: Camp Camp episode 2, "Mascot"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was beta'd by the lovely and talented R.A. Enbows, who you can find at http://raenbowsofficial.tumblr.com. They are wonderful and exceedingly talented, and you should go give them all the love you have in your beautiful hearts! (Yeah, get used to this tag. As long as R.A. keeps editing chapters, I'm gonna keep using it.)

"David?"

"So I thought, 'Darn it, Max just isn't engaged with the camp activities. If only I could find something to connect with him on' —"

"David —"

"And then I realized, I'm looking at this all wrong! I'm an _adult_ — of _course_ I don't know what it's like to be a kid! I just need to reconnect with my inner child. And then —"

"DAVID!"

He finally stopped walking and looked at her, his head cocked to the side like a puppy. "Yes, Gwen?"

"At any point in this story do you explain why we're in the middle of the forest? At midnight?"

He laughed. "Oh, right! How silly of me." To demonstrate his absentmindedness, he bonked himself lightly on the head with his flashlight . . . which caused the light to sputter and die, leaving them in utter blackness. With a sigh, Gwen fished through her pockets and handed him a set of AA batteries. It never hurt to be prepared with David. "Thank you, Gwen! How very thoughtful of you."

"So . . . the forest?" she prodded, listening to him fumble with the flashlight and wondering whether there were any bears around Lake Lilac. "And at night?"

"Isn't that obvious?" With a _click_ , they were washed in a circle of buttery light, which danced wildly as he threw his arms to the side and spun in a circle. "We're going to make an obstacle course! And we have to do it at night because I didn't think of it until tonight, and it'd be ridiculous to try and get it set up while the campers are eating breakfast. There'd be no time."

" _Right_. That'd just be stupid." She grabbed the flashlight from him and took a few cautious steps into the clearing he'd brought them to. She had to admit, bathed in moonlight that turned everything black and silver, it looked pretty impressive. Almost like the place where Jacob and the other werewolves were trained how to fight vampires in _Eclipse_ . . . "But what does this have to do with Max?"

"Kids love physical activity! I figure that he just needs some good old-fashioned exercise to get the blood pumping and put him in a better mood."

She turned to him incredulously. Was she really supposed to believe that David — the skinniest, scrawniest dweeb she'd ever laid on — was a huge proponent of working out? "I don't think that's —"

"There's gotta be _something_ Max cares about," he continued, pushing past her and prowling the perimeter, stooping every few minutes to pick up a large stick and tuck it under his arm. "If I can just figure out what it is, I'll be able to make him see how wonderful it is here."

"Wonderful" wasn't exactly the word Gwen would use, but there was no point in trying to convince David that anything was wrong with Camp Campbell; in his mind, it was exactly the same as when he was a kid.

Maybe that was the problem.

Instead she knelt down, grabbing a stick that looked about the same size as the ones he was collecting. "David, Max is ten. That's literally the _worst_ age. He's too old to care about animals and too young to care about girls, which means he doesn't care about anything."

He shot her a reproving look. "Don't say that, Gwen! Everybody cares about something!"

"Not kids — kids are sociopaths." When this only deepened his frown, she sighed and fell silent, picking through the grass and trying not to be paranoid about bears.

After a few quiet moments, David murmured, "But what else can we do? We have to capture his attention somehow."

Gwen was hit with an idea so brilliant that she dropped all of her wood, sprinting over to David and grabbing his shoulders. "That's it! Capture!"

His eyes were wide, and he looked like a startled deer in her grip. "A-are you recommending kidnapping Max? Because I'm pretty sure that's against camp regulations . . ."

"No!" Stepping back, she walked the area in a circle. It was almost the size of their whole camp; it'd be perfect. "What if we made a Capture the Flag tournament? We could break them into teams, give them an hour to set up defenses and strategize and stuff, give them something to steal — like that weird stick thing you're so attached to, maybe we have two of those — and the winning team can . . . I don't know, get extra dessert for a week or something they'd actually give a shit about."

" _Language_ , Gwen!"

"David! Are you even listening?! It'll let Nurf beat people up, Harrison can use his magic, Neil can put that science-brain to work making exploding bear traps or something, and Nikki can do . . . whatever Nikki does. And you know if those two are excited about something Max _has_ to go along, even if he bitc — complains about it the whole time." Coming back to earth, she turned to him with a shrug, feeling stupid for getting so enthusiastic over a dumb camp activity that would probably fail anyway. "I mean, I'm not saying they'll get into it or anything, but it'll give them something to do for a day. And the kids'll get all tired out from killing each other, so they won't have the energy to annoy us. Plus it has all that cooperation and working together shi — stuff you care about." _And I won't have to spend all night duct-taping sticks together to make an obstacle course that'll probably collapse and kill us all._

He frowned, looking around at the clearing. "Well, I can't say I approve of the violence, but it would let them use their creativity to solve a problem together." He looked up at her with a shy half-smile. "And I'd feel pretty bad about turning you down when you're so excited about it."

"I'm not _excited_ ," she muttered, looking away and rubbing at the back of her neck. "I just figured the kids might not hate it."

"Well, I think it's a great idea!" Before she knew what was happening, he had scooped her up into a ferocious hug. "I can't wait to see what the campers think when they hear about it tomorrow!"

Suddenly Gwen realized that this was actually going to happen — something she suggested was being put into action — and her chest grew tight. "If this fails it'll be all my fault. It'll be another disaster like the rest of my life, and I —"

"But it _won't_ fail!" Taking her hand, he began leading her back to the campsite. "We'll just get some tools out of the supply shed and they'll be able to make their own forts and everything! But what will we use for flags? The Order of the Sparrow staff is much too special, even for this, and besides we only have one . . ."

Tightening her grip on his hand (even though she should've yelled at him for touching her without permission — _twice_ ), she picked her way through the forest after him, clinging just as firmly to his words to keep from spiraling into panic. David was terrible at talking to basically everyone, but for some reason his boneheaded goofiness was good for breaking through her anxieties. If nothing else, she was distracted by having to rein in his over-ambition and insane optimism.

"No, David, we _can't_ make a tower out of gold and have that be the prize. We don't even have running water all the time! Where do you come up with this stuff?"

"Okay, well . . . what about grapes? People like grapes."

"Cooler than _that_."

"Hmm, let's see . . ."

They spent the entire walk back like that, bickering and slowly putting together the rules of the Capture the Flag game. It was decided that she, the Quartermaster, and David would be referees, and the teams would each pick their own captains.

"It's gonna be a long day tomorrow, huh?" she said as they approached the counselor's quarters. Her legs hurt just thinking about how much they'd be running around to judge the game.

"No longer than any other day!" She rolled her eyes and wished him goodnight, turning to go into her room, when she realized they hadn't let go of each other's hands. "Really, Gwen, it'll be just fine." His voice was soft, less rip-your-eardrums-out cheerful than usual. "Goodnight. Get some rest — it'll be a big day." And before she could say anything, he squeezed her hand once and then released it, disappearing into his room.

Well, she'd been raised on a diet of love stories since she was six: how was she _not_ supposed to find that just a little bit romantic?

A little bit, though. Nothing crazy.

He was still _David_ , after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Capture the Flag game takes 14 hours. Max is captain of Team Fuckstick (Neil, Nikki, Space Kid, Nerris), and Ered is captain of Team Cool (Nurf, Harrison, Preston, Dolph). David, Neil, Preston, and Space Kid all suffer injuries, Team Fuckstick captures the flag 5 times, and Team Cool captures the flag 7 times. No one can decide who wins, because while Team Fuckstick ends the game with both flags, they didn't capture it as many times as Team Cool; David is too busy being patched up to make a judgement call and Gwen is too busy doing the patching, so QM decides that everyone can have extra dessert for a week, but only if they make it themselves because he's not going to do it for them. Which means a week of the campers eating their body weight in Snack Pack pudding cups and candy bars, because none of them can cook.
> 
> All in all, it was one of the camp's more successful activities.


	5. "I can't do this alone, which means you have GOT to PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scary stories never end well, at least not if you're a camp counselor in charge of a bunch of kids and a coworker who might as well be one of the campers.
> 
> Ch 5. quote: Camp Camp episode 9, "David Gets Hard"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was beta'd by the lovely and talented R.A. Enbows, who you can find at http://raenbowsofficial.tumblr.com. They are wonderful and exceedingly talented, and you should go give them all the love you have in your beautiful hearts! (Yeah, get used to this tag. As long as R.A. keeps editing chapters, I'm gonna keep using it.)

'gwen r u there? pls reply!'

She cringed as her phone lit up, blinding in the moonless night. Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she saw that it was a text from David and seriously considered throwing it across the room and going back to sleep. But he was only a room away, and if she didn't answer he might decide she was dead and break in or something. _I knew scary stories was a bad idea_ , she thought, dialing his number and hoping their intermittent cell reception would stop working.

No such luck. "Gwen! I'm so happy to hear from you!"

His voice was way too loud and way too happy for three in the morning. "What is it, David?" she snapped.

"Y-you see, I was just practicing my nightly smile exercises in the window's reflection" — she groaned inwardly and shook her head — "when I noticed that there may be an insane murderer stalking the campground. Now, I'm _sure_ it's all a misunderstanding and he's a wonderful person, but the children might be in danger, and I thought —"

Now she was wide awake. Sitting up fully, she swung her legs off the side of the bed and hunted for her shoes. "You saw someone? Where?"

"Outside the counselor's lodge. He was headed toward the mess hall, and he had something over his shoulder."

"What _kind_ of something?" As she spoke, she hurried toward the doorway, taking care not to turn any lights on, and headed down the hall toward David's room.

"Well, visibility isn't great tonight, but it could've been a s-sack, or a body, or — wait, I hear something . . . oh my goodness he's coming to get me — SWEET GOLLY GOSH HELP ME, GWEN!"

She had just opened the door to his bedroom and ducked the phone that came sailing at her head. "David, you _just_ said he was going to the mess hall. That's in the opposite direction from here!"

He flicked on his light and nearly went limp with relief, putting a hand on his rapidly-moving chest. "Boy, am I glad to see you! I thought there was another murderer!"

She rolled her eyes and threw a flashlight at him, eliciting another piercing scream. "Come on, let's go find your psycho."

The camp was silent as they crept across it, moving mostly by feel in the darkness. (The flashlight was mostly for beating brains in, a concept David wasn't thrilled with.) As they approached the mess hall, they saw that the front door was wide open and ducked behind the flagpole. "You locked the doors before bed, right?"

"Of course I did!" he replied in an indignant whisper.

She tiptoed to the door and knelt down, inspecting the lock. "It doesn't appear to have been forced. Maybe —"

"GWEEENN LOOK OUT!" She threw herself to the floor and rolled out of the way — the most athletic thing she'd done in years. David rushed forward and grabbed her under the arms, lifting her to her feet and pushing her behind him in one clumsy move. "Who goes there?!" he shouted, brandishing his flashlight. "I d-don't want to have to use this!"

Whoever he'd seen had retreated into the darkness, and neither of them could see a thing. "David, turn the fucking thing on!"

" _Language!_ " But he powered up the flashlight, shaking it until it worked, and aimed its flickering yellow light into the hall's main room.

It was empty, and the safe was wide open.

Gwen groaned, knowing who their "murderer" was immediately. "Hey, did your murderer happen to be seven feet tall and built like the Brawny Man?"

"Why, as a matter of fact he did!" He gasped, covering his mouth. "I-is it one your . . ." His voice dropped to a whisper, and he skittered closer to her. " _Ex-boyfriends?_ Come to take revenge?"

Christ, what had she told him about her relationships? Sure, most of them were slightly-terrifying dickheads, but clearly she hadn't properly communicated their character to David. "Absolutely not. They'd all be way too lazy to do something like this." Besides, she was pretty sure none of them remembered her name, let alone cared enough to follow her into the middle of nowhere.

"Then I just can't imagine —"

She snatched the flashlight from him and stalked over to the safe, ripping the door open fully and shining the light into its half-empty contents. "I think Mr. Campbell decided to pay us a visit."

His eyes widened and grew sparkly with unshed tears of excitement. "Really? Where?" He sprinted out of the mess hall, searching the grounds for signs of a car or limo or tank. "Mr. Campbell?! Are you there?"

While he ran around the campground — tripping over the rocks he couldn't see — Gwen closed and locked the safe, walking toward the back of the room. "I sure hope no agents from the FBI or CIA were following him," she said loudly, even though David was too far away to hear. "They might overhear that Mr. Campbell sometimes hides in the mess hall's attic!"

There it was: an almost imperceptible _shh!_ With a smirk of triumph, she yanked on the drawstring hanging from the ceiling and pulled the ladder into the attic down.

Mr. Campbell blinked down at her from the trapdoor. "Why hello, Glinda."

She shone her light in his face, making him shield his eyes. "Are you seriously planning on taking half of our budget, sir? With all due respect, we cannot operate like this."

He frowned, and his head disappeared from view. She listened to a furious scratching noise, but before she could climb up he was back, holding out a sheet of paper. "Here, take this to Muffin Tops in town. Their proprietor owes me a favor, and this should cover you for the next few months."

She took the note, which was sealed with the Camp Campbell insignia in wax. "Th-thank you, sir," she said, awestruck. She didn't think Mr. Campbell had ever listened to her before — though the fact that she was semi-threatening to reveal his location to the authorities may have had something to do with that.

"No problem!" Despite being barely above a murmur, his voice had the same boom and bluster it always did. "Anything for you kids and this great camp!"

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and pocketed the note. "Of course, sir. Let me know if you need anything."

"Your silence is thanks enough!" She was just about to push the ladder back up into the attic when he stopped her. "Oh, and one more thing." His head disappeared, and there was more scratching. "Please give this to that co-counselor of yours, will you? I can't tell him where I am because you know Davy — he can't keep a secret to save his life!" He chuckled. "Ah, that boy once lost me six months and twenty thousand dollars, the rascal. Anyway, I hate to leave him without something, so tell him you found this lying around. Someplace that makes me look mysterious, maybe."

She took the paper he was offering her, not sure she could take another shock this evening. "Okay, sir."

"Thank you, Gabby! You know, you deserve a raise. Shame all _this_ money is going to Kuwait, but remind me next time I visit, okay?" Before she could respond, he pulled up the ladder and shut the trapdoor, leaving her alone in the mess hall.

David hurried back into the room, breathing hard. "Well, no sign of him anywhere in the camp," he panted. "Not even in the campers' tents!"

"You _checked_ the tents? Jesus, Dav —" Suddenly she remembered the note in her hand, and held it out to him. "I, uh, found this. Taped to the . . . um . . . flagpole."

"The flagpole?" He looked back out at it incredulously. "How could I have missed that?"

"Well, uh —"

David laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, Mr. Campbell, you are too amazing! Can you believe he did that without either of us noticing?"

She shrugged, and huddled closer to read the note. "'Davey and Gertrude.'" She cut herself off with a huff, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms.

He took the flashlight and continued, not noticing her irritation. "'Sorry to just drop in like this, but business calls! I'll be sure to visit you all soon. _Campe diem!_ ' How wonderful!" He pressed the note to his chest and smiled so wide she thought he was going to hurt himself. "He's such a great person, isn't he?"

Gwen glanced up at the trapdoor, wondering if Mr. Campbell could see through the wooden slats how happy David was. Or if he'd already fallen asleep in preparation for his next great idea. "He's not half bad," she admitted. "Come on, let's go to bed."

* * *

She was just about to fall asleep when her phone buzzed again. "God _dammit_ , David," she growled, picking it up without bothering with a greeting. "What the Christ is it now?"

"Hi, Gwen!" She wondered if she'd get fired for going into his room and shoving her phone down his throat. "I hate to wake you, but I was wondering if you could come here for a second. You see, I _know_ there isn't a terrifying demon monster in my closet, but for some reason I can't feel my legs and am having trouble breathing."

 _I_ knew _scary stories was a bad idea_. She stomped into his room and threw open the door, flicking the light in his closet on and standing inside it. "Look, you fucking twenty-four-year-old toddler, there's nothing in your closet. It can't fit in here with my fat ass anyway, so if there _was_ anything it'd be crushed to death. Can I please go to bed now, since the sun will be up in two hours?"

David dropped the sheet from in front of his face, watching her expectantly. Once he was satisfied that she wasn't going to get eaten or sucked into hell or whatever, he hopped out of bed and gave her a hug. "Thank you, Gwen! It's silly, I know, but I saw this movie — well, a collection of short movies, really — and there was this guy called Mr. Hendrix, and —"

"Yeah. Sure. Anytime." She started to pull away from him, but he'd suddenly frozen beside her. "What." She didn't even have the energy to phrase it as a question.

"Now, I _know_ this'll sound ridiculous, but I was just looking at the space under my bed, and, well . . ."

She yanked his arms off of her, storming over to his bed and grabbing all of the blankets and pillows. "Get your mattress." Trailing them behind her, she crossed the hall to her room and threw them on the floor, her coworker following her like a confused puppy. "There. Sleep. If there's a monster I'll stab it with my hairbrush, okay?"

His eyes had welled up with tears, and he clasped his hands to his heart. "You're such a good frie —"

"Just make your bed and shut up already!" She threw herself into her own bed and curled up among her pillows (and stuffed bear named Mordecai, but she made sure to hide that from David). _Finally, sleep_.

Then there was a knock on the door.

"FOR THE LOVE OF —" Gwen shot up like a bullet, her eyes blazing, and David gently pushed her back down on the bed, holding out his hands to indicate she should stay back and calm down. Crawling into the blankets as angrily as possible, she glared at her bedroom door as he opened it to reveal Space Kid and Nerris, both holding their sleeping bags and pillows.

"What are you kids doing here?" David asked with a smile.

They peered over his shoulder into the room. "Are we . . . interrupting?" Space Kid asked.

"Shh, I got this! I'll use my Insight!" Nerris fumbled in her pajamas for a dice.

David glanced over at Gwen and realized what it might look like. "Oh, this is nothing! We were just having a sleepover because of the scary stories! Right, Gwen?"

She stared at him. "Why do you sound like you're hiding something? You're telling the truth."

"So what's up, campers?" he said hurriedly, still for some reason acting nervous. (She'd later realize that it was because he's fucking _David_ , so of course he was being an idiot, but it was four a.m. and her cognitive abilities were a little impaired.)

"Space Kid is concerned about the squirrel in his suit, and my healing spells aren't working!"

"Also you woke us up when you were checking the tents and now we can't go back to sleep because it's scary and dark."

David looked over his shoulder at her, his eyes large and pleading. She groaned. "Sure, whatever. Let them in."

"Great! It'll be like a sleepover!" He moved his mattress to make room on the floor next to him, and helped the kids spread out their sleeping bags. "Sleep tight, everyone!"

There was a knock on the door.

"I am _not_ getting out of this bed until the sun is in the sky and someone is giving me pancakes!" Gwen declared, burrowing into her blankets and pulling them over her head. "Someone else figure out what's going on."

She heard the tentative footsteps of David stepping over the campers, and the _click_ of the door opening. Immediately there was a scream and several heavy objects landed on her bed, squishing her legs and squirming on top of her (she was elbowed in the stomach at least twice, and a knee may have squashed a boob. She couldn't exactly confirm it then and there, but it felt pretty deflated). She started to sit up and was enveloped in arms. "What the fu —" Getting her bearings, she realized that David, Space Kid, and Nerris had all leapt into her bed and she was in the middle of a terrified group hug.

At the door was the Quartermaster, dressed in a towel — okay, she could see why that would be frightening — and towing Neil, Nikki, and Max behind him. "Kids." He shoved the three forward, catching his slipping towel with his hook and adjusting it. "On Spooky Island."

"Max, I'm very disappointed in . . ." He trailed off as he took in Max's face. For once there was no snarl or smirk, and his normally dark face was practically white. All three of them huddled in silence, looking down at the ground with wide eyes. "What on earth happened? Neil, Nikki, are you kids okay?"

"Ruined my night," the Quartermaster grumbled, and Gwen suddenly understood.

"Thank you for bringing them back," she said, shoving her way out of the pandemonium on her bed and breaking the promise she'd made two whole minutes ago. "Get back to your party. The night is still" — she glanced at her watch and groaned — "middle-aged? I'm sorry, QM. We'll take it from here."

"Value pack of condoms gone to waste," he muttered, and she leapt forward, pushing him out of the room as gently as possible.

"Again terribly sorry have a good night see you tomorrow!" Closing the door, she rested her forehead against it with a sigh, trying to repress that mental image. "So," she said, turning to the three wayward campers, "learned the terrifying secret of Spooky Island, huh?"

They all shuddered, grouping closer together. "I feel unclean," Neil murmured.

Gwen knew it was mean to laugh, but she couldn't help it; it had been a really long night. "You'll get over it. The mind's great at blocking things out — you kids will barely remember it when you wake up tomor . . . in three hours."

Three pairs of eyes looked up at hers, traumatized yet hopeful. "Really?" Nikki asked.

"Totally. _I'd_ forgotten all about it until you showed up. Thanks for that, by the way."

Max, who seemed to be recovering, looked from her to David and frowned, like he was trying to make a decision. Apparently choosing to interact instead of be his usual misanthropic self, he said, "You went to that pl — to Spooky Island."

She glared at David and shooed everyone off her bed, climbing in for what she desperately prayed would be the last time that night. "My first year working here, I was convinced Mr. Campbell was hiding something huge out there," she said through a yawn. "David and I stole a boat and joined the Wish I Was Blind Club of Camp Campbell. Never went anywhere after hours again." (This last bit wasn't _technically_ true, but she figured it might keep them out of trouble.)

"Oh." Max plopped to the floor. "Okay."

"You guys wanna sleep here tonight?" David asked gently. "It's a long walk back to your tent, and you've had a rough night."

 _Oh_ , they've _had a rough night?_ Gwen thought, but rolled her eyes and waited for the inevitable blowup.

But instead of telling him to go to hell and storming off, Max just shrugged and curled up in the corner. Looking at each other, Nikki and Neil laid down on either side of him, as far away as possible from the others, but still in the same room.

"D-do you kids want blankets? We can find —"

"Shut up, David," Max mumbled, dropping instantly into sleep like only kids (and David) were able to.

There. That _had_ to be everything. She reached for her phone and texted David: 'Can u believe how quiet they r? Maybe we should send all misbehaving campers to spooky island during QM's fuck-parties. Never have bullying problems again. ;)'

A few moments later her phone buzzed. 'language gwen'

And a few seconds after that: 'but i hope they learned a valuable lesson! :D'

Thinking that they probably learned a lot of lessons, but not the ones David had in mind, she turned off her phone and went to sleep. _Note to self: No more scary stories._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quartermaster's night wasn't totally ruined. We'll just leave it at that.


	6. "Well, she's smart, and she helps me run activities . . ."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David thinks Gwen is special. He thinks everyone is special, but there's something special about Gwen's specialness.
> 
> Ch. 6 quote: Camp Camp episode 9, "David Gets Hard"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was beta'd by the lovely and talented R.A. Enbows, who you can find at http://raenbowsofficial.tumblr.com. They are wonderful and exceedingly talented, and you should go give them all the love you have in your beautiful hearts! (Yeah, get used to this tag. As long as R.A. keeps editing chapters, I'm gonna keep using it.)

"David!"

He paused for a second, measuring Gwen's tone quietly in his head. That wasn't her "I'm going to kill myself" voice, and it wasn't her "I hate everything around me" voice . . .

"DAVID!"

Ah, yes! It was her "David stop being a fucking idiot and get over here and help me" voice!

"For Christ's sake, David, stop being a fucking idiot and get over here and help me!"

"Coming, Gwen!" He glanced wistfully at the rest of his breakfast, but it was time for the morning's activities. That was what happened when he zoned off, he supposed. Come to think of it, what had he been thinking so hard about anyway? As he cleared off his tray and headed to the front door, he almost collided into Max, Nikki, and Neil, who were leaving the mess hall as well. "Why hello, campers! What a nice coincidence — now we can walk down to the activities field togeth —"

"Suck a dick, David," Max said without much enthusiasm. They'd been out of coffee that morning, which meant he wouldn't have much energy until lunchtime. On the bright side, that meant David didn't have to worry about him causing too much trouble. But it was a shame that he wouldn't be able to participate as fully in today's activity. Max and his friends — it made him so happy to say that, even in his head. Max's _friends!_ — brushed past him and made their way down to the field.

That's right: he'd been trying to figure out what camps they hadn't tried, to see if there were any that would get Max excited. His parents hadn't signed him up for anything in particular; in the "Preferred Activities" field, they'd written _Just keep him away from the house and out of prison_. Which meant that there were lots of possibilities!

Unfortunately, they'd already gone through the other kids' camps, and none of them had interested him. Not even science camp, which had gotten even Neil a little enthusiastic; Max had just stood by silently and let his friends do all the work (well, Neil did all the work and tried to stop Nikki from blowing their workstation up. She had the most wonderfully adventurous spirit, even if it made her a bit of a handful at times). David knew that Max would hate the camp _he'd_ signed up for — well, _camps_ , really, since he could never decide between Wilderness Survival Camp and Learning From Nature Camp, and always signed up for both! It meant twice the fee, but it was worth it!

But Max didn't like the outdoors; when he and his pals had tagged along on David's day off, he'd hoped maybe they were interested in learning how to live in the forest, but the three of them had just rewired his stereo to only play Top 40 music and stared out at the lake. It had been a lot of fun, even if they didn't say much to him — and he learned a few neat songs, though some of them were _not_ appropriate for children! — but he wished he could find the thing Max cared about.

Even Gwen had stuff that made her excited, and though there was no Reality TV Camp, he could always talk her into hosting a creative writing class. It made him so happy to see her feverishly thinking up writing prompts, making sure they had enough paper and pencils, and flitting from table to table, giving advice and even offering encouragement. It was the only time all summer she really seemed to come to life (except moving-out day, but the last few years had even dimmed her enthusiasm for that).

As he followed the stragglers past the counselor's building, he realized that he'd forgotten his camera. Mr. Campbell had asked David to take lots of promotional pictures for the camp — "something that makes this place look legitimate, Davey" — and he'd been so eager to start the day's adventure that he'd forgotten. He glanced up at the activities field, where everyone had yet to get organized, and decided he could be a little late, just this once. He couldn't let Mr. Campbell down!

Ducking into the small building felt like being engulfed in a sauna: the wood was an excellent insulator and kept the quarters nice and toasty. Gwen said it felt like being suffocated in an oven that smelled like dirty socks, but he thought it was a great reminder of how beautiful and warm the weather was up at Lake Lilac.

His camera was in the closet-sized room that served as their counselor's lounge, sitting on a pile of Gwen's magazines. He snatched it up, putting the lanyard around his neck so he wouldn't drop it, and was about to head out the door, but paused at the glossy picture beneath it. _LOSE TEN POUNDS IN TWO HOURS AND NOT DIE!_ the headline read, the words floating next to a picture of a plum-lipped woman he'd never seen before. Gwen would know (and tell him he must live under a rock), he thought, staring down at the pouting celebrity. Next to her plastic-looking cheek were a collection of word bubbles in cotton-candy colors: _MAKE HIM WANT YOU BY BECOMING A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT PERSON! p. 85 (AND YES, IT **DOES** INVOLVE LOSING WEIGHT. NICE TRY, FATTY!). LOVING YOURSELF IS THE FIRST STEP TO ACHIEVING WAGE EQUALITY! FIND OUT HOW ON p. 103! TEN SEX POSITIONS NAMED AFTER THE WORLD'S HOTTEST POLITICAL ASSASSINS! p. 57._

His cheeks flushed, but despite himself he flipped through the pages aimlessly, pausing to inspect an advertisement here, a list of the ugliest Hollywood puppies there. Why did she read this stuff? She was the smartest person he knew (besides Mr. Campbell, of course), and such a lovely person. She didn't think she _needed_ this advice, did she?

Sometimes David borrowed her books and magazines when they were lying out, hoping to get to know her a little better. For the most part they just left him more confused. It was hard to reconcile his pessimistic co-counselor with the dramatic (and often heartwarming) romances she read, or her confident sarcasm with the almost desperate bawdiness of her magazines, or her indifferent attitude toward the camp with gossip about the tiniest details of celebrities' lives.

 _Gwen is just Gwen_ , he told himself, closing the magazine and making his way back outside. Not everyone was easy to figure out, and that was one of the best things about the world. It gave him opportunities to learn every day.

For a second he wondered if she read _every_ article in her magazines, but hastily pushed that thought away. "Pottery Camp, here I come!" he said aloud, and picked up his pace to meet the others in the middle of the activities field. "Hello, Gwen! I hope everything's going well."

"You _motherfucker_ ," she growled. Nurf was smearing clay in Nerris' hair and face. As she tried to separate them, Nikki had taken advantage of her distraction to bury one of Gwen's feet in clay, and was now rubbing two sticks together, muttering to herself.

"Catch fire, catch fire . . ."

David swooped in and picked up Nerris around the waist, hauling her over his shoulder with one arm. "Space Kid, help clean Nerris up!" he called, setting the sorceress on the ground. "She's going to need help walking to the bathrooms," he added, indicating for the shy boy to take her arm.

"He hit me with a blinding charm!" she cried, the clay over her eyes starting to crack in the blistering sunlight.

"Put water on her face until the clay softens. _Don't_ try to chip it off!" Watching the two campers hobble slowly to the showers, he felt a flash of guilt for leaving Gwen alone with the kids for even five minutes. "I'm sorry," he began, turning back to her, "I just —"

"I don't give a _fuck_ what you were just!" she snarled, snatching one of Nurf's knives and using the tip to carve her foot out of Nikki's clay — much to the latter's disappointment. ("Aww, come on! I was gonna throw her in the lake _Godfather_ -style! It was gonna be awesome!")

"Goodness, Gwen, I didn't mean to —"

She stomped toward him, shoving her finger at his face. " _You_ were the one who wanted to do this activity! _You_ promised to take care of everything! _You_ insisted that the kids would be fine with all the scalpels and the sharp objects, and _you_ ignored my dozens of reasons why it was a terrible idea! Now _I'm_ the one who has to figure out how to tell our boss why we spent a third of our summer's budget on a goddamned _kiln_ of all things, and try to control this disaster while you were off doing . . . whatever!"

"Getting the camera," he said brightly, holding it up for her to see.

"If it weren't for the fact that you're using QM's camera, I'd throw that thing into the lake with you attached to it."

"I know you're upset, but I'm sure you'll agree that it was all worth it by the end of the day!"

She grabbed his bandana and yanked his face close to hers. At this distance, he could appreciate her pretty purple eyes and long eyelashes . . . but mostly that she was really scary when she was mad. "Just. Don't. Leave," she hissed. "Not for the rest of the day. You stay right in this goddamn field until this nightmare is over, and you don't get to leave for one second. Got it?"

He nodded as much as he could with her death-grip on his neck. "Yes ma'am."

Gwen glared at him for a second, seeming to assess his trustworthiness. Deciding he was sincere, she let go and stepped back. "You're on Freak Show duty," she said, her nickname for Harrison, Nerris, Space Kid, Preston, and Dolph. (No matter how many times he told her it wasn't very nice, he couldn't get her to stop using it.) "I'll handle the Problem Children" — that would be Max, Nikki, and Neil — "and Nurf." Nurf didn't need a code name; he was one of a kind. "Try not to get injured, because we don't have time to go all the way to the mess hall and grab the second aid kit. If you get stabbed we'll just have to slap some clay on it or something."

David watched her head over to where Ered had convinced Nikki to grab as much clay as possible and help her build a half-pipe. As Gwen started ripping it apart and giving the clay back to the campers Nikki had stolen from, he couldn't help but smile.

She'd missed him! Beneath all the anger and foul language, he could tell that she was relieved to have him there, which meant that she saw him as a valued coworker. Maybe she'd put in a good word for him with the judges at next year's Camp Counselor of the Year contest . . .

If she was still here, of course.

For the first few years at Camp Campbell, Gwen had been quick to tell anyone who would listen (so, basically just David) that she wasn't going to come back the next year. She was going to get a real job that let her stay in the city and had nothing to do with kids, and she'd write a novel that made her so famous she'd never have to do anything but write again. She'd take the weekly newspapers and pore over the help wanted section, circling jobs she wanted to apply for.

Around her third summer, though, he noticed that she'd stopped reading the papers as thoroughly as before, sometimes stopping before she even reached the job announcements. She still complained about the camp, but David began to worry about her, and so one Sunday morning after she'd thrown away the paper, he went through the postings himself, circling every position he thought she'd be good at — all of them — and putting a star next to the ones he thought she'd enjoy — just one, editor at the town newspaper. Setting the paper on her bed, open to the help wanted section, he'd been so proud to help Gwen find a job that she loved as much as he did.

The next morning she'd slammed the postings on the table in front of him, nearly knocking over his breakfast. "Are you trying to fucking get rid of me?!" she'd demanded. When he'd tried to explain that he just wanted to help, and that of course he didn't want her to leave unless it would make her happy, she balled the newspaper up and threw it at his head, refusing to speak to him for the rest of the day.

They'd never talked about it since, and every week he took the paper once Gwen was finished with it and threw it in the recycling, noticing each time that the help wanted ads were untouched.

Though sometimes he wished he'd made it clearer that he _didn't_ want her to leave. He'd known her longer than most people, and she was almost as familiar with the camp's secret tricks and idiosyncrasies as he was. He didn't want to admit it in case she got angry again, but as every summer approached, the excited butterflies in his stomach were mixed with a nervous knot, one that only loosened when he returned to the counselor's lodge and saw her sprawled out on her bed with a book in her face.

Gwen was part of the camp now. If she left, it just wouldn't be the same.

"Earth to David! _Hey!_ " He was shaken from his thoughts by Max's voice, and looked down to see the kid standing in front of him with his arms crossed and his usual scowl.

"Why hello, Max! What can I do for you?"

"You can stop being such a loser and acting like a creepy Mr. Rogers, for starters." His eyes flicked to the side and then down at the ground, his jaw jutting out farther. "And, uh, you're out of red paint. Not that I care, it's just, like, what kinda shitty camp is this where you don't have enough supplies for your stupid activities? Is it that close to being foreclosed on already?"

David glanced over at where the Problem Children had been sitting and saw that, in the empty spot being Neil and Nikki, was a small lump of red clay that had been formed into a lopsided vase. He swallowed his glee and simply nodded. "I'll go get some, Max. Thank you for letting me know."

He snorted and turned away. "Don't thank me for reminding you to do your job."

As he went to the supply shed to grab more paint, he stopped at the stations of each of his kids (who he refused to think of as The Freak Show, no matter how many times Gwen said it or how catchy it sounded) to make sure they were all okay. His co-counselor seemed to be holding her own as well; even Nurf was quiet, carefully forming clay into little balls that David hoped weren't going to be thrown at any campers when they hardened.

He had to search a bit; the shed seemed to eat supplies, so that whatever they needed was always in the very back under a pile of heavy stuff. As he hauled another few cans of paint into the sunlight, Gwen approached the shed, leaning against the door and crossing her ankles.

"Can you get some more clay?" He nodded and dove back into the mess. While he rooted around, she said, "You know, that pain in the ass of yours is already making another pot. He's the only one on his second."

"Oh?" David kept his voice level; he didn't want to risk Max's progress by getting excited about it, even if the camper wasn't around to overhear.

"Mm-hmm." She took the bag of clay from him, slinging it over her shoulder like Santa's toy sack. "I think you might've found his activity."

"I hope so," he said, "but we'll have to see. He won't want to admit it either way — he's stubborn like that." _This camp is full of stubborn people_. As the activities field came back into view he added casually, "You know, I don't think we've had a writing class this summer, have we?"

Out of the corner of his eye her back straightened, but her voice was as dry and indifferent as ever. "Huh, guess not."

"I mean, I know it's kinda last minute and a bit of an inconvenience for you, but maybe we could run one next week? I don't really know much about writing, but . . ."

Gwen shrugged as well as she could under the heavy clay. "Fine. I could do that. You'd owe me, though — bigger than you already do."

He grinned down at his coworker. "Thank you so much! So . . . what about Tuesday?"

She rolled her eyes and grumbled, "There goes my weekend. But yeah, if you need me to I can throw something together." After a moment, she added, "Oh, and if you're hurt at the end of the day let me know. I had QM pick up some extra bandages and leave them in the mess hall. I can patch you up if you do something stupid."

"I really appreciate that, Gwen."

That evening her magazines had been replaced with a pile of books: _The Elements of Style, Creative Writing for Kids 9-14, 1001 Never-Fail Prompts, Getting Your Students Excited About Writing, Tips & Tricks for Beginning Storytellers_. They all looked pretty new, but each one already had a rainbow of Post-It Notes sticking out the sides.

David didn't bother to flip through these. He figured he knew Gwen pretty well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are actually a few kids that get really into writing camp: Neil, Preston, and Nurf enjoy it the most, though they don't always show it. Nikki hates sitting still for that long, so she and Max usually start making monsters out of the paper and making them fight. David sits in the corner, for the most part; he doesn't mind writing, but he prefers to watch her in action.
> 
> Gwen feels like she's going to throw up before, during, and after the activity, but it's her favorite day of the summer.


	7. "THERE'S NO TIME-TRAVELING DOCTOR COMING TO SAVE YOU, GWEN! GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen has a day off. She spends it trying to find something to do, and runs into an old Tinder flame. Just . . . not one of hers.
> 
> Ch. 7 quote from: Camp Camp episode 9, "David Gets Hard"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was beta'd by the lovely and talented R.A. Enbows, who you can find at http://raenbowsofficial.tumblr.com. They are wonderful and exceedingly talented, and you should go give them all the love you have in your beautiful hearts! (Yeah, get used to this tag. As long as R.A. keeps editing chapters, I'm gonna keep using it.)

"Gloomy Girl? Uh . . . I mean, Gwen?"

Gwen glanced up from her beer, jumping a bit. It wasn't like she expected to see anyone she knew at _Muffin Tops_ , for Christ's sake. If it weren't for the fact that this was her weekend off and nowhere else in town had music, she wouldn't even be here. Besides, as much as she hated to admit it, the sweet release of being away from camp wore off pretty quickly. And then things got pretty lonely, so after a few hours of reading in the back of the Jeep, she'd decided to wander the town and see what there was to do.

What there was to do, it turned out, was go to Muffin Tops. That or sit on the porch outside the hardware store and listen to the fossils complain about the new generation. At least this place had people in it. Mostly strippers, which she altered between trying to ignore and watching with fascination. They were all just so _bendy_. . . It was like being at a zoo, but without all the monkey shit.

The voice came from her left, and she turned to see two enormous brown legs held up by the tiniest sparkly heels. Craning her head back revealed a pair of familiar yellow eyes, though she couldn't quite remember where she'd seen them before. "Um . . ."

"It _is_ Gwen, right? That chick from the camp?"

"Yes?"

The woman smiled, dropping down from the stage and leaning against Gwen's table. "Well damn, I never thought I'd see you! 'Specially not around here." After a few moments of silence, in which Gwen just stared at her blankly, she tossed her hair and said, "Y'know, the way Dave talks about you I thought you was the saddest bitch who ever lived, but you seemed in a pretty good mood last time I saw you." She pursed her lips, cocking her head to the side and putting her hands on her hips. "Not so much now, I guess."

Suddenly it clicked: "Bonquisha?" She was almost unrecognizable in light-up gold pasties and matching underwear, with her dreads in a high ponytail and every inch of her coated in a light glitter.

She shook her head rapidly, slicing her hand across her throat. "It's _Bonaynay_ here, sugar." Plopping down into the seat next to her — Gwen shuddered to think what germs she was picking up with her bare ass on that cracked and peeling vinyl — she leaned in and lowered her voice. "Trust me, you really don't want some of these motherfuckers knowing your real name. Most of 'em are harmless, but there's always a couple crazies." Settling back, Bonquisha laughed and slapped her shoulder, which made her upper arm go numb. "So how you been? I feel like I know you, Dave talks 'bout you so much."

"He does?" Gwen honestly had no idea David was still talking with his sole (as far as she knew) Tinder match. After their one and only date, he'd returned to the camp on jelly legs, his hair and clothes all rumpled; when she'd asked teasingly how his night had been, he'd just groaned and shut himself up in his room.

"Don't you go getting jealous, it ain't like that. Cute, but he's kinda a weirdo, y'know what I mean?"

 _Boy, do I_. Casting around for a response — the conversation felt very one-sided, since it seemed like Bonquisha held all the cards and Gwen was still trying to figure out the rules — she said, "So . . . you work here?" _No, she just_ likes _wearing twelve-inch heels and strutting around in a thong, Gwen. You're such a fucking idiot._

"Sure do! That's how I got to your camp so quick. Came straight from work." She unwrapped the tank top that she'd removed and formed into a headscarf earlier in the show, holding it up so that the words "No gag reflex" were visible. "You think I wear stuff like this for fun? Shit, boss is looking." She leaned forward and draped the shirt around Gwen's neck, pulling it back with a little shimmy. "Sorry 'bout that, but we get _wrecked_ if it looks like we ain't working. Good to see ya, though."

Embarrassed, but with half a beer to go and in no mood to sit by herself anymore, Gwen dug a twenty out of her pocket. "Talk to me for a bit?" she asked, hating how pathetic that sounded. But who else was she going to hang out with? The old guys? It wasn't like she could text David; he was working twice as hard because of this so-called "vacation." And she'd be damned if she admitted that she missed him and his stupid camp.

Bonquisha grinned and stuffed the money into her waistband. "You're small for a dance, but . . ." Before she knew it, thick, meaty arms had wrapped around her waist, and she was hauled over to Bonquisha's lap like a rag doll. "There, that's cute. Don't wanna crush you — Dave'd never forgive me, and then who'd I watch _Wheel of Fortune_ with? You gonna do it, Gloomy?"

So _that_ was where he disappeared to some Friday nights. It was disappointingly less scandalous than she'd hoped, though she had no trouble imagining him loving _Wheel of_ _Fortune_ , since it was unbearably lame and therefore suited him perfectly. "Sorry, I'm not great at game shows."

She laughed, throwing her head back in that effortless way Gwen had only seen in shampoo commercials. "Neither is he, sweetheart! That's what makes it so fun: I always win. Now," she settled back, pulling Gwen snug between her chest and the crook of her arm and reclining on the chair's back legs, "what're ya doing here? Don't tell me you're tryin' to make ya man jealous — I don't do that drama anymore."

"No! I don't . . . have a man." And it wasn't like any of her exes would've cared if she was out at a strip club; they just would've been annoyed she didn't bring them along. "I don't know any men."

"Aww, don't be mean! Dave might be crazier'n a coked-out wolverine, but he's a man, all right. I checked." She winked.

Gwen opened her mouth — there were so many questions — then decided she didn't want to know. Instead of replying, she sipped her drink and shifted awkwardly. Were her shorts making imprints on Bonquisha's thighs? Was her butt getting covered in glitter?

"He's a good guy, you know. You take care of him."

"Um . . . I will?" This wasn't exactly the conversation she'd expected to have. "Why does it sound like you're trying to fix him up?"

"Because I am!" She grinned down at Gwen, unembarrassed. "I _tried_ introducin' him to some of the girls here, but he wouldn't set foot in the door. He shy — and obviously crazy about you, Gloomy Girl."

Gwen's face went hot, which she decided to blame on the alcohol. "Yeah, right," she snorted. "Like a first grader wants to marry their teacher."

"You'd be surprised. It's the nice, happy, Mr. Rogers-acting mothafuckers who're the freakiest. Dunno for sure — I _said_ he was shy — but I know men. You'd have fun with him."

Oh God, ew. Was Bonquisha making fun of her? Of David? "I'm gonna go." She tried to push herself out of the leaned-back chair, but slipped and nearly face-planted on the dingy table. "Are you wearing baby oil or something?"

"Obviously." Bonquisha righted her, but held onto her wrist gently. "I'm sorry, Gloomy. I was just messin' — and you still got, like, twelve dollars left." She let go and held both of her hands up. "No more talk about Dave, promise."

Gwen glanced at her watch and sighed. "Get me another beer."

* * *

"Sorry that took so long. This bartender . . . s'like he never heard of vodka n' orange juice before!" Bonquisha set the beer on the table and sat back down, immediately hauling Gwen back into her lap like she was an oversized teddy bear.

"He's just not my type," she replied absently. The more she thought about it, the more it bothered her.

"The bartender? Good, he's dumb enough to be one of my exes."

"No. David."

Bonquisha's eyebrows shot up. "So I guess we talking about it, huh?" She sighed and settled back in her seat, putting her feet up on the table. "Just remember I didn't bring it up."

"I just don't date guys like him. He's not my type."

"Oh? And how's your type been working out for ya, then?"

That gave Gwen pause. She knew her track record was worse than most - she wasn't stupid, no matter what her mom implied. After a high school career of tragically single loserness, she'd fallen into college and found herself with a new boyfriend every Friday, and dumped by Sunday. A week of crying and moping in bed, then repeat. Since then she'd settled into a more reasonable trend, with relationships that sometimes lasted more than a month, but she'd always sort of figured she had bad luck, and jerks kept happening to wander into her life.

It hadn't really occurred to her that she just had a shitty type.

They were tall, that was always one thing. And pale, like so pale it might be health condition — or makeup; there had been lots of guys with makeup, thick eyeliner that made their eyes smoky and brooding. That gelled, tousled hair that was always unnaturally dark, lots of pleather, lots of black. Occasionally chains or rings, never both. Usually tattoos or piercings. The kind of guy who was in a band (always shitty prog-rock) or wrote poetry, who scoffed at her YA romances for being trash despite looking and acting like he'd just walked out of one of them. Basically, James Dean meets Christian Grey meets Johnny Depp in every Tim Burton movie. They were a surprisingly common breed — pretty regularly made fun of, but they never seemed to give a damn. That was part of what Gwen liked about them. She wanted to not care what people thought, either.

That kind of guy was supposed to have a heart of gold, waiting for the right girl to bring it out of him.

"Lemme guess: the only thing you brought out of him was a lot of jizz and some credit card debt." Gwen winced, making Bonquisha laugh. "Honey, don't let anyone tell you white boys can't be dogs. Your type is a hood-rat fucker if I ever heard of one."

"No, that's not it! They were just always . . ." _Romantic_ , in that gothic, sulky way. One of them had a British accent, which was her biggest weakness (except for vampires, but she was ninety-four percent positive they weren't real). Mostly, underneath the disdain and resentment for the world, they always seemed to hiding the fact that they were — "Sad. Or melancholy, I guess."

"You're turned on by crying n' shit?" She snorted, tossing back the rest of her drink and plopping it back on the table. "No wonder you don't like Dave."

"Sort of . . ." It was driving her crazy that she couldn't put into words what she was drawn to. It was generic square-jawed manliness, but underneath a kind of vulnerability. And Bonquisha was right: there was nothing vulnerable about David. He was too happy, and he wore it like a shield. Things just bounced off of him.

She certainly never got the sense from him that he'd be lost without her, that no amount of wealth and traveling the universe and saving lives would fill an emptiness inside, a void that only she could fill.

Bonquisha didn't sound impressed by any of this. "You're a dumbass."

She looked down, swirling her barely-touched beer. "I like to feel needed." Preferably by someone with great abs and the fate of the world on his shoulders.

"Awww, sweet gloomy dumbass." Her arms squished Gwen against her, cheek resting on her hat. "At least you know ya fucked up."

Gwen wasn't often hugged (well, except by David, but she didn't count hugs that felt like she was going to be crushed to death). She didn't really like to be touched, which worked out because her parents didn't like to touch at all. So while it was awkward and definitely embarrassing to be curled up in the lap of a stranger in a G-string, she rested her cheek on Bonquisha's shoulder and let herself enjoy the bizarre moment. "Do strippers usually end up having these kinds of conversations with their clients?" she asked, irrationally hoping there was something normal about this.

"You'd be surprised how many people come here for a therapist. And s'basically my job to help confused white girls figure they shit out. Price of being black, y'know?"

She frowned. "I'm not white."

Bonquisha shrugged. "Close enough." She relinquished her partly, keeping one arm wrapped around her shoulders. "Now, ya time's up, but gimme your phone." Taking it, she tapped at it with one hand, ignoring Gwen's confused look. "That's my number. I got unlimited texting but _not_ calling, so don't you tie up my line with any more boy problems. You text that shit."

"Why — ?"

"How many friends do you have round here? There's, like, two people under 30 in this entire town. We gotta stick together. Now smile — this gonna be real cute." She angled Gwen's phone so it was aimed at both of them, their faces oddly murky in the multicolored light.

"What? No, I hate pic —" Before she could finish protesting, Bonquisha snapped the photo, blinding her with the flash.

"There we go! Just gotta text it to myself so I got your number . . . good!" Handing Gwen back her phone, she helped them both to their feet, supporting the smaller girl as her legs woke back up.

She wasn't really sure what to say. How did someone end a conversation like this? "Thanks. You're, like, crazy strong."

Bonquisha grinned, flexing. "Damn right! Used to be 300 pounds, back when I was workin' in Texas. Called myself Darque Chocolate. Pay's better when you that big, but I kept breakin' heels." She pointed at the pole, where one of her coworkers was dangling upside-down by one knee. "Best workout of ya life, bet on that."

Gwen wasn't big on exercise, but she filed the information away. Maybe she could use it in a novel or something. "Have a good day, Bonq — naynay."

"You too, Gloomy. Say hi to Dave for me."

* * *

"David?"

"Gwen!" He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, his beat-up guitar in his lap. A huge smile spread across his face. "You're back early!"

She shrugged, leaning against his doorframe. "Yeah. There wasn't that much to do in town, and I figured you could use the help."

"Of course I can!" He leapt off the bed, hurtling across the room and pulling her into a viselike hug. "I missed you!"

"I was gone for three hours!" She started to shove him away, but stopped when she saw four Band-Aids stuck in his hair. "What happened to you?"

He released her, stepping backwards sheepishly. "Nurf . . . ah, may have gotten into the supply closet and found Mr. Campbell's collection of hunting boomerangs."

Why did he never remember to lock anything? He was lucky she came back before the entire camp was destroyed. "Who fixed you up?" Inspecting his head more closely, she realized that the Band-Aids were just dangling from the outer strands of hair, and underneath was matted with blood. "Christ, you look like a fucking nightmare."

He was so excited by her surprise return that he didn't even mention her language. "I did! I couldn't remember all of my second aid, but I think I did pretty well."

She rolled her eyes. "Bathroom. Now." She had an emergency kit in there for occasions just like this.

As he sat on the closed toilet lid, patiently letting her dab at his cut with a wet washcloth — "those boomerangs were sharper than I thought! But the Quartermaster took them back to Spooky Island. He said he could catch a lot of dinner with them! I think he was kidding." — David looked down at his feet and murmured, "Not sure what we'd do without you, Gwen."

 _"He's shy."_ Feeling warm, she pulled away from him and fumbled for the bandages. "Bullshit. You'd just have to find someone else to patch you up."

"Well, I feel better knowing you're across the hall when I need you." His eyes were on her, brilliantly green. She focused on ignoring them as she put the finishing touches on his head wound, but she couldn't help smiling a little bit.

The moment was broken by a cheery whistle: the first few notes of David's stupid camp song that served as his text alert. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and said, "Oh, Bonquisha! I haven't heard from her in a while." He looked up at her. "You remember —"

"Yep," she interrupted, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. This could end embarrassingly . . .

"Well, we — oh, it's a picture." He opened it and his eyes widened in surprise. "Gwen, you didn't tell me you and Bonquisha were friends! This is a nice pi . . . are you at Muffin Tops? And is that glitter on your cheek?"

When he looked up from his phone, he realized he was talking to an empty room. A second later he heard her bedroom door slam shut. A second after that his phone binged with another text from Bonquisha.

'gloomy grl is mad at me. ur lady luv is easily embarrased ;)'

Then another:

'think shes worth it dav. take care of both of u.'

David smiled, blushing a bit. He had no idea where Bonquisha got her crazy ideas, but she was sweet, in her strange way.

"David?" Gwen had emerged from her room without him noticing, and was hovering awkwardly by the bathroom door. "Dinner time, if you want to . . . I mean, I can go without you if you want."

"Of course! Just a second." Shooting a quick 'thank you' text, he pocketed his phone and followed Gwen to the mess hall. "Sooo . . . how was town?"

"Go fuck yourself."

" _Language_ , Gwen!"

"Go fuck yourself."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's really hard to write Bonquisha without making her even more of a stereotype than she already was, and there's an uncomfortable bit of Magical Negro-ness (also that trope name is super fucking awkward, sorry!) in this chapter, but . . . really, who else is Gwen going to talk to about her many, many problems? David's useless, the campers are just kids, and QM . . . would give very bad advice. It would probably involve illegal activities.
> 
> Besides, I just like her. She's somehow the opposite of both Gwen and David - impressive, since they're already pretty much on either end of all the spectrums - and I have a weakness for a strong, sassy woman. If you find anything in this offensive, and/or have suggestions to make Bonquisha less stereotypical and more well-rounded, please let me know; I'd love to fix her up a bit, but I'm not sure how.
> 
> Also, I'm pretty sure the popular fanon is that Gwen has never dated anyone because she's too in love with YA heroes to settle for a normal person. That's plausible and super relatable, but I kinda like the idea of her being more experienced than David. That "experience" might be full of mistakes, but I think it's a cute juxtaposition nonetheless. Besides, anyone who's read enough bad YA knows that actually dating that type of person would be a nightmare, and Gwen is learning that (slowly) the hard way.


	8. "I just don't get it. I loved summer camp as a kid. What changed?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Camporee was a triumphant success, and they're not part of the Wood Scouts. So what's up with David?
> 
> Ch. 8 quote: Camp Camp episode 11, "The Camporee"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All aboard the "idiots in denial slowly realizing their feelings for each other" train! I'd apologize for all the fluff in this and upcoming chapters, but you people know what you signed on for.
> 
> This chapter was beta'd by the lovely and talented R.A. Enbows, who you can find at http://raenbowsofficial.tumblr.com. They are wonderful and exceedingly talented, and you should go give them all the love you have in your beautiful hearts! (Yeah, get used to this tag. As long as R.A. keeps editing chapters, I'm gonna keep using it.)

Gwen paused in the narrow hallway that separated the counselors' bedrooms, taking a deep breath before knocking on his door. "David?"

It was ridiculous; there wasn't any reason to be nervous. He was _David_. Even if he'd seemed a bit down after winning the Camporee, and his smile for the _Sleepy Peak Times_ was just the tiniest bit forced . . .

"Come in."

. . . and his greeting had all the pep and cheer of Charlie Brown . . . She edged her way into the room, feeling oddly like she was trespassing. "Hey," she murmured, keeping her voice hushed for no good reason. "Rough afternoon?"

"Of course not. We won the Camporee, thanks to you. That's an incredible honor." He was sitting at his desk, slumped over on one elbow over something she couldn't quite see.

Jesus, it was amazing how strange his voice sounded without the usual exclamation marks. It squeezed her heart, like looking at those commercials for ASPCA with the sad dogs. Shuffling closer, she peered over his shoulder to see what lay in front of him. "Thinking up what to do tomorrow?" He'd taken down his bulletin board of pictures, and Gwen realized she'd never bothered to take a look at these before. There was a picture of their old mascot, a photo she'd snapped of him and the Problem Children during Hiking Camp, and . . . "Oh my god, is that you as a kid?!" Forgetting to be nervous, she put a hand on the back of his chair and leaned in, her eyes darting from a group photo of him as a camper to a still from their promotional video, where David was small enough to fit in Mr. Campbell's hand, his eyes still stupidly huge and his hair a neater, nerdier version of its current style.

It took quite a bit of willpower to resist the urge to squee.

He smiled wanly at her enthusiasm and pushed the bulletin board so she could see it. "It was a lot of fun, being a camper." His expression, so close to being normal, drooped again as he looked at the photo they'd taken at the beginning of this summer. She had to admit, it wasn't exactly a great promo pic (though she excused her pissed-off expression by the fact that it was six in the morning and the sun was in her eyes). "I don't know what happened."

Christ, Gwen _really_ wasn't the right person to give David a pep talk. "Well, you know, kids these days . . . what with technology and everything . . ." She'd tried to talk Mr. Campbell into giving them money for a couple Xboxes, or even just a TV that had been made before the 1990s, but he'd brushed her off, the way he always did when she brought up money. "Besides, they don't admit to liking things. It's uncool."

" _Liking_ things isn't cool? But . . ." He frowned. "I suppose we'll just have to make it cool, then!"

She snorted. "David, please. You're the last person to make anything cool."

"I'm . . . not cool?"

His crestfallen expression made her laugh. She couldn't help it; it was just so adorably disappointed. "Sorry, but you're kinda lame. Things become less cool if they associate with you."

"Oh." His voice was small. "I didn't know that."

Great, now she felt bad. "Hey, it's okay. I mean, _I'm_ pretty cool, so that balances things out. Since I don't like anything, I'll relate to the campers, and you can be the ideas man." He _did_ have good ideas, when he didn't let his excitement get in the way. He just needed to be reined in. Which was something she happened to be pretty good at, sometimes. And, if she had to admit it, she supposed David was good at making the rest of the camp come out of their shells.

A bit.

A very tiny bit.

"We make a good team?" That was the first sentence he'd said all evening that didn't sound horribly depressed.

Gwen shrugged. "I mean, we don't make a _bad_ team. Not sure we need to go throwing labels like 'good' around . . ." When he didn't laugh, she added, "But I really do think a Video Game Camp would go over well. They could take turns working on a game together, or compete or something. And a lot of them take place in the woods, so we could do some kind of 'in real life' thing where they could play out parts of it, like an . . . I dunno, an immersion or something . . ."

"That could be fun." Though his voice was still soft and his shoulders were still slumped, she saw a bit of light come back into his eyes. "Really, I like that idea. I just wish . . ."

"I know. Change sucks dick." She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, resting her chin against his temple. He smelled really nice, his hair fluffy and piney. She had the oddest urge to sniff it, and when he nuzzled his head against hers she almost bent down and kissed his forehead. _What the_ fuck _, Santos?_

He smiled, a movement she felt in the muscles along his temple. "Language."

"Shut up." Okay, maybe they'd been hugging for too long. She was sure David wouldn't notice, because his ideal length for hugs was three times longer than any reasonable person's, but she still disengaged herself. "Seriously, I think this could be good — for the camp, I mean. You saw how into the challenges everyone got when they were able to do their own thing. Maybe if we focus less on togetherness and more on, like, individuality and stuff, they'll be more enthusiastic. Like, they'll feel like they're being listened to or something." God, she felt stupid. Who was she to lecture him about Camp Campbell, when she was probably an even bigger pain than most of the campers? "I mean . . . right? Maybe. I dunno." She took a step back, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly. "Never mind."

He didn't look up from the photos, but his expression seemed a bit more hopeful than earlier, and his voice was lighter as he said, "I think that's a good idea, Gwen. I hadn't thought of it like that."

Still feeling awkward and like she'd overstepped her bounds, she kept babbling. "I mean, I guess it doesn't make any difference if we don't have the money to actually _do_ the stuff they're interested in, but . . . I mean, we could try to be creative." She'd gotten pretty good at stretching a buck; sometimes she impressed herself with what they'd accomplished with the meager supplies in their shed and her co-counselor's unstoppable imagination. "I'll . . . uh, let you go. Try to get some sleep, David."

"You too." He finally turned to her, catching her wrists in his oversized hands. "Thank you for the talk. You're always here when I need you."

Her face warmed, and she disguised it by pulling her hands away and fiddling with her hat. "Please. I'm right across the hall, it's not hard or anything."

There was something sweet and knowing in his smile. "I still appreciate it, Gwen."

She rolled her eyes and backed out of the room, unable to hide an answering grin. "Goodnight, you dork."

It wasn't until she'd returned to her room, gotten into her pajamas, and climbed into bed, that she realized she was still smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's short. I was gonna do a whole "before the Camporee" thing before I realized that it wasn't really necessary. You can imagine it: David was excited, Gwen knew it would be a disaster, Mr. Campbell was overwhelmingly himself. Obviously I needed to devote my attention to the fluff.


	9. "So once, there was this girl, and no one really understood her . . ."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David doesn't really get Gwen. But that's okay, because she doesn't really get him, either. Somehow they make it work.
> 
> Ch. 9 quote: Camp Camp episode 5, "Journey to Spooky Island"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was beta'd by the lovely and talented R.A. Enbows, who you can find at http://raenbowsofficial.tumblr.com. They are wonderful and exceedingly talented, and you should go give them all the love you have in your beautiful hearts! (Yeah, get used to this tag. As long as R.A. keeps editing chapters, I'm gonna keep using it.)

"Gwen?"

She knew she should call back, say she was okay. It wasn't right to make David worry.

Then again, it also wasn't right to leave in the middle of Painting Camp and curl up in a ball behind the showers, but here she was.

"Gwen, are you over here? It's okay, Dolph said he would throw out the snake painting, and I rounded up the . . . uh, Problem Children before they could make it to the docks. Quartermaster is making Max and Neil clean up the paint they poured in Space Kid's helmet right now, and Nikki . . . well, we decided it'd be best to leave her alone until she cools down and stops trying to tear apart the supplies shed with her teeth."

Ignoring his voice, she buried her head between her knees and stared down at the grass, focusing on breathing. _Out, in . . . out, in . . ._

It was true that Dolph's painting of snakes had look disturbingly like a swastika, and the paint fumes from Max's most recent attempt to create a distraction and escape _had_ made her dizzy, but that wasn't what had freaked her out. The fact that there had only been one near-disaster before lunch made this a pretty calm day, all things considered.

"Gwen?" She didn't look up, but she heard the cheery _tap tap tap_ of his feet on the packed dirt, and she could _feel_ his head pop around the corner of the building. "Ah, there you are! For I second I thought you'd run away, too!" After a moment of silence, he shuffled closer until his feet came into her limited field of vision. "Are . . . are you all right, Gwen?"

She gritted her teeth and hugged her legs tighter. She was not going to cry. She _did_ cry, a lot, and that was part of the reason her parents were convinced she couldn't make it on her own, but she didn't need to do it in front of David. He was so immune to sadness, he probably wouldn't understand why her eyes were raining and would try to get medical help. Even his funk the night before had disappeared so completely that she could almost believe she'd imagined it, and now he was even more cheerful than usual.

"Hey." He knelt down and rested a hand on her knee, stopping her from rocking back and forth — something she'd been totally unaware of doing. "Did I say something?"

A strangled sob burst from her then, because it _had_ been something he'd said that had caused her current mental breakdown. But it wasn't his fault. And thinking of the brilliant smile on his face made her cry harder, because he couldn't think of a higher compliment than the one he'd given her that morning at breakfast — in fact, neither could she, and that was the worst part.

_"Gee, Gwen, it was amazing to see you guys win Camporee yesterday. You really understood those kids and how to get them motivated, and used their individual strengths to help them succeed!" He'd laughed and picked up his plate, heading over to the trash bin. "Skills like that could win you Camp Counselor of the Year!"_

She knew it would kill David if she'd _actually_ won that dumb thing, but for a second she'd been proud of her accomplishment. As she rounded up the campers and dragged (literally, in Space Kid's case) them over to the art space, she realized that she hadn't won anything since her sophomore year of college, when her short story won first place in the English department's annual fiction contest. She still had it buried in her childhood bedroom somewhere; it wasn't the first time she'd realized that she wanted to be a writer, but it was the first time she began to entertain the hope that she actually had a shot.

Six years later and her illustrious career had brought her to her next greatest achievement: a fake award for something no one actually cared about, and a thankless job at a camp that might just be a cover for the mafia. No best-selling young adult romance trilogy that captured the teen experience in a tragic paranormal romance. No groundbreaking papers that awarded her a spot in the literary elite (she wasn't sure that was compatible with the romance-author thing, but a girl could dream). Not even a job teaching third graders English, a fate that had seemed worse than death before Camp Campbell.

And that novel she was supposed to be working on? Sixty pages of awful. Every word felt like pulling teeth, and an hour of writing at the end of each miserable day at camp resulted in a handful of stilted sentences that she'd clawed from her empty head and didn't sound as good on paper.

With those kinds of stunning successes to put on her resume, she'd be _lucky_ to win David's stupid counselor award.

"But it _isn't_ stupid!" he said emphatically, and she realized she'd been talking — blubbering, really — out loud this whole time. "You saved the camp!" His foot disappeared from her blurry vision, and a gentle shifting by her side indicated that he'd taken a seat next to her. "I know you don't think this place is all that important, but I don't know what I'd do without Camp Campbell. So really, I guess you saved _me_ yesterday."

She sniffled, wiping her nose on her arm before glancing up at David. He was smiling down at her, his back against the building and his legs stretched out impossibly far in front of him. Saving someone sounded like something the heroines in one of her books would do. It certainly didn't sound like yelling at some kids to win a contest, but she wasn't going to complain. "R-really?"

"Gwen, you're my hero!" He grinned, then curled his legs up and wrapped his arms around them so that he was mimicking her position—though with his knees almost above his head, he looked a little like an ostrich trying to fold itself into a suitcase. "And the campers would never admit it, but I think they're all relieved not to be part of the Wood Scouts."

"Even Max?"

" _Especially_ Max."

She snorted, then surreptitiously maneuvered her phone out of her pocket to make sure her nose had stopped running and her mascara hadn't started to. The last thing she needed was to go back to the zoo with a gross face; they'd never let her forget it. "I'm glad we're not with them either. This is _our_ camp to fuck up and burn to the ground."

He opened his mouth to criticize her language, then thought better of it. "Actually," he said after a minute or two, "I know this isn't your dream job or anything, but I'm really happy you're here."

This wasn't touching in the slightest. David was really happy about literally everything; if a rabid bear burst out of the woods and attacked them, he'd be really happy to have the opportunity to go for a run. So she _definitely_ wasn't moved by it. But she liked hearing it all the same. "Thanks, David."

"Now," he said, unbending himself in a process that looked complicated, "we should probably get back to the camp activity. The Quartermaster can't hold down the fort forever!" Standing, he held out his hands to pull her to her feet.

Despite her strict no-touching rule (which seemed to get less strict the more time she spent in this hellhole), she took his hands and allowed herself to be hauled up, stumbling as gravity reasserted itself. To her surprise, David's grip on her hands tightened and supported her, nearly-invisible muscles straining as he held them both steady. "For a stick-figure man, you're pretty strong," she remarked, the words slipping out before she realized how dumb it sounded. Of course he knew he was strong — he knew it better than she did, it was his body! And he knew he was skinny, so what was the point of saying anything? When would she learn how to talk like a normal person and not like an antisocial freak? (She _was_ an antisocial freak, but that didn't mean she wanted to talk like one.)

"You are too!" he chirped back, completely oblivious to the stupidity of her comment. "Taking care of this camp is a great workout!"

There was a crash that sounded way too loud to be harmless. "And never a dull moment," she added dryly.

"You bet!" Missing her sarcasm, he rocked back on his heels with a dopey smile — nearly pulling her over, as they were still holding hands. They looked down at them quietly for a moment, and just as Gwen was about to yank them away with an insult or a joke, he dropped one hand and began sprinting back toward the campers. "Race you!" he shouted over his shoulder, dragging her along behind him.

Swearing under her breath, she struggled to keep up with him, tripping over everything and nearly falling over (which he probably wouldn't notice, and he'd pull her along on her face the rest of the way). "What the fuck kind of race is this?!"

" _Language,_ Gwen!" He tugged at her hand again, slowing down just enough so that they were running side by side. "And what's the fun of a race unless everyone wins?"

"That defeats the entire point of a race!" But she didn't let go, and in fact tightened her grip on his hand as she burst into top speed, laughing at his squawk of surprise.

They careened into the clearing where the kids were painting. Well . . . mostly painting: Nurf had stuck Harrison's head in a paint can, and Nikki had shoved two brushes up her nose and was jumping from easel to easel, shrieking that she was the queen of the forest and demanding each of the campers to pay her tribute. (She'd already collected three candy bars, two pennies, and Space Kid's fake moon rock.)

Max, however, was completely calm, and took in their clasped hands and disheveled appearance with a smirk. "Kinda inappropriate to go make out on the job and leave us poor innocent children all alone, isn't it?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "I know you're just doing this until the job market magically improves, but you should at least _try_ to act professional."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Gwen scoffed, shoving David away and wishing she could do that with her own eyebrows.

He gave her a wide, innocent smile. "Of course I don't — just being a kid, and all." Shoving his hands in his pockets, he sauntered away from his untouched canvas and joined Neil and Nikki, who were splitting her tribute into thirds.

"Gwen? A little help over here?" David had grabbed Harrison by the bucket and was trying to pull it off his head, but was merely dragging the kid around and splashing paint everywhere. As she watched, Nurf stuck out his foot and tripped them both, causing David's arms to fly up into the air as he fell, flinging Harrison free of the bucket and all the way across the clearing. "Never mind!"

She and the Quartermaster locked eyes and stared each other down. Finally admitting defeat, he sighed and went over to help the purple-splattered magician, who had staggered to his feet and was weaving drunkenly from side to side.

A paintbrush hit her in the side of the head, streaking her hair and cheek with light blue. As she turned to yell at Nikki, a second whipped through the air, smacking her in the middle of her forehead and leaving a stripe of black down the bridge of her nose. "I hate this job," she groaned, picking up the brushes and resisting the urge to hurl them at the first campers she saw.

There was a loud grunt from behind her, and she turned to see the Wood Scouts paddling across the lake, their pimply leader standing on one of his cronies' shoulders and shouting nasally orders.

He caught her eye and winked, and she turned back around with a shudder, focusing instead on David, who was kneeling in front of Nikki and asking her to _please_ return everything to their owners. She responded by clamping her teeth down on his hand, causing him to spring to his feet with a high-pitched scream and leap around, shaking his arm wildly until Nikki broke loose and sailed into the nearest tree.

"Nikki! I'm so sorry!" Cradling his injured hand, David hurried over to where she was sitting up, holding her head. "Are you okay?!"

"Do it again! But throw me farther this time!"

 _But I guess it could always be worse_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> David had hoped that Max would enjoy painting as much as he did pottery, but no such luck. The next several days were spent breaking down what Max might have enjoyed about pottery - molding and sculpting? Messiness? Expressing his deepest emotions through art? Vases? - and turning each into the camp activity. Unfortunately, somewhere around "Clay Vase Camp" (which consisted mostly of looking at pictures of ancient pots and "sharing their feelings") Max figured out what David was trying to do and doubled-down on hating everything.
> 
> Also, David refuses to tell Gwen anything about his plans for the Order of the Sparrow except that it will change everything. This isn't reassuring.


	10. "Because he's fucking DAVID, Nikki. You should know that by now."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No matter how stupid (and occasionally racist) David's schemes might be, Gwen always had his back.
> 
> It was her job. And . . . besides, they were a team.
> 
> Ch. 10 quote: Camp Camp episode 12, "The Order of the Sparrow"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was beta'd by the lovely and talented R.A. Enbows, who you can find at http://raenbowsofficial.tumblr.com. They are wonderful and exceedingly talented, and you should go give them all the love you have in your beautiful hearts! (Yeah, get used to this tag. As long as R.A. keeps editing chapters, I'm gonna keep using it.)

"David?"

"Yes, Gwen?"

"What the fuck am I looking at?" They were standing in the counselor cabin's living room, which looked like a turkey had exploded in it. Feathers piled high on every available surface, and what looked like a kit of clown makeup had fallen open, spraying white dust over her magazines. Her eyes landed on something she _seriously_ didn't want the campers getting anywhere near — or David, for that matter. "Is that a bow and arrow set?!"

"Yes, Gwen!" He leapt in front of her, beaming. She rarely saw him in his pajamas, and it was a little hard to take him seriously in a ratty Train shirt and pine-tree boxers. "It's the Order of the Sparrow! You must have read about it in the Employee Handbook."

"Right . . ." She was pretty sure the Employee Handbook was balancing out a leg of her desk. "So all of this . . ."

"Is preparation! I thought of it the night of the Camporee, but it's taken a few days for the Quartermaster to order all of the supplies. Not to mention planning everything, and setting up the fire, and now we just have to make our costumes and we'll be ready to go tomorrow morning!"

Her jaw dropped. " _Tomorrow?_ Christ, David." There went her evening of reading quality literature and going to bed early. (Or spending some "quality time" with herself reading trashy romances until 2 a.m., but she didn't need to tell him everything.)

"Nah, it'll be fun! See, we get to make these neat hats, and —"

Should she tell him that this was all incredibly racist? It wasn't a conversation she wanted to have, but she wanted to wear a feathered headdress and war paint even less. However, she still hadn't forgotten his depression after the Camporee, and part of her would just rather make sure he kept smiling. "Are you sure you've thought this all the way through?" She was pretty sure none of the kids this summer were Native American, but still . . . "Don't you think it might be a bit . . . insensitive?"

David laughed, shaking his head at her affectionately. "Gwen, you worry too much. They're kids — no way they'll think about it like that! They'll just like the cool costumes."

Honestly, sometimes it was like David had never _met_ his campers. But if this ship was going to crash, she might as well go down with the wayward captain. If nothing else, she could try and steer him away from the major icebergs. Like . . . "No _way_ , David. I'll dress up like the goddamn Village People if I have to, but we are _not_ doing an 'Indian war dance' around a fire!"

"Aww, but _Gwennn_! It'll be cool!"

"I said no and I meant it!"

Yet, as she sewed fringe on one of QM's old jackets and laughed at David's ridiculous speech — there was no way she was going to get through that tomorrow morning without cringing — this was one of the more fun disasters-in-waiting they'd had all summer.

* * *

"Are you excited, Gwen?"

"No," she groaned. He'd kicked down her door at 4:30 in the morning, chirping like a fucking bird and bouncing off the walls, so oblivious in his excitement that she had to shove him out of her bedroom so she could get dressed. They hadn't had time to make real costumes — they'd given up around midnight, collapsing in a pile on top of feathers and craft supplies, and only David accidentally rolling onto the still-plugged-in hot glue gun had roused them enough to stagger back to their bedrooms — so she yanked on her normal camp uniform and figured it would have to be good enough. "How's your burn?" she asked, emerging into the hallway.

"Just fine! See?" He'd thrown on his costume while she was getting ready, and turned to show her the shiny pink mark on his lower back, nestled along the indent of his spine. It had raised into a blister, and the area around it was redder than usual, but she had to admit that it could've been worse. Thank goodness for whatever magic (and possibly illegal) burn cream QM kept the aid kits stocked with; even drunk on glue fumes and exhaustion, the meager care she'd given him had been enough to stave off any severe damage.

Suddenly aware that she was seeing a part of David usually hidden beneath those godawful green camp shirts, her fingertips ghosted over the skin around the wound, watching her hand with an odd detachment, like it wasn't really hers. His skin was so pale against her hand — she'd never really thought of herself as _dark_ before, not compared to her family and most of the people from her neighborhood, but she was practically Bonquisha compared to his peach-pink skin, and the downy, blonde-white hairs along his back were so much more delicate than her own.

He was . . . well, kind of pretty.

David hissed as she accidentally grazed his burn mark, and she shook free from her thoughts. "Put a Band-Aid on that," she said brusquely, pushing herself to her feet and turning to the bathroom for the first aid kit (or was it second? The only real difference between the two was that second aid included a lot more "experimental" cures that she was pretty sure weren't FDA approved).

"Do you think I'll make it?" he gently teased, standing patiently as she smeared antibacterial cream on the burn. "You were down there so long I thought maybe it was worse than it felt, and that you were getting ready to call an ambulance."

Her face burned, and she slapped the bandage on his skin with more force than was strictly necessary. "You're fine," she muttered, gratified slightly by his surprised (and pained) yelp. "Aren't you gonna get sunburned?"

"Nope. Spray-on sunscreen!" He beamed at her, clearly not having any of the weird discomfort she'd been experiencing the past few days. _Fucking hormones,_ she told herself, even though she knew her period wasn't due for another three weeks. "Do you need any, or do your people not burn?"

Deciding that probably wasn't racist — and if it was, it'd be a drop in the bucket compared to the rest of the day — she shook her head and pushed past him, wincing at the surprisingly-cool air. "We're really getting close to the end of summer, huh?"

"Yeah." He came up next to her, sounding wistful and a little sad. "That's why I wanted to do this now, before everyone goes home for the year." He put his hands in his pockets and surveyed the lake, which was starting to glow pink with the promise of sunrise. "Can't imagine what this place looks like in winter. It must be beautiful."

"Probably. And fall can't be too bad, either. It's almost a shame we only get to see it like this, for one season." That sounded almost like she wished she could be here full-time. God, what was she saying? How much glue had she inhaled, anyway?

"But we're lucky, right, Gwen?" David turned to her, a smile spreading across his face like the sun over the water behind him. "Because we get to be here now. And it'll be here next year too, waiting for us. I-if you're here, I mean."

Of course she wouldn't be here; every fall she swore she wouldn't come back, every winter she desperately looked for a better gig, and every spring she resigned herself to the fact that she'd be returning to Camp Campbell for another summer, like a habit she just couldn't seem to break. But maybe she _would_ miss it, if she got a job and didn't make it back to Lake Lilac.

Yeah, right. Like a mosquito misses bug spray.

Still, she couldn't help but feel some fondness for the falling-down old place regardless. Must be the end of summer getting to her . . . not to mention those pre- pre- pre-menstrual hormones. Those happened weeks early, right?

"Come on." She punched David's arm, something she'd never done before and immediately regretted. She was supposed to be the cool one, for Christ's sake. "I'll get QM and meet you at the campers' tents. Let's go offend some kids."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, you know what's great about sexual tension? That I can't write it! :D 
> 
> Seriously, I know this is awkward as hell, but just you wait. We're easing into the shallow end of uncomfortable things I don't write well, so enjoy the water and get ready for the plunge. (Ha. Plunge. Like sexually. I'm so sorry.)


	11. "It's because it sucks!" "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry" "It ALWAYS sucks!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Order of the Sparrow challenge is well under way. Unfortunately, it seems to be harder on the counselors than the kids.
> 
> Ch. 11 quote: Camp Camp episode 1, "Escape From Camp Campbell"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was beta'd by the lovely and talented R.A. Enbows, who you can find at http://raenbowsofficial.tumblr.com. They are wonderful and exceedingly talented, and you should go give them all the love you have in your beautiful hearts! (Yeah, get used to this tag. As long as R.A. keeps editing chapters, I'm gonna keep using it.)

"Gwen? I called for you, but I don't think you were able to hear me, so I'm real relieved you had your phone on you! Uh, anyway . . . you wouldn't happen to be available right this second, would you?"

She sighed, taking her stupid feathered headband off and putting it on her hat stand — a head one of her exes had ripped off a department store mannequin, painted like a Day of the Dead skull, and given to her as an apology for sleeping with her brother. (She'd forgiven him. It _was_ a really nice head.) Thank God she'd talked David out of wearing the Order of the Sparrow costumes all day, though it had been difficult to convince QM to give up his bow once he'd attached it to the hook hand; it turned out he was quite fond of it, and it wasn't fun arguing with him when he was armed. She'd finally decided to let him and Nikki fight for it, figuring Mr. Campbell could afford the legal fees.

"What, David?" she asked, juggling her cell phone and the keys to the counselors' cabin as she tried to lock up without losing reception.

"Oh, it's nothing, but . . . um, Harrison and Nerris might be drowning, and I need to keep Nurf from breaking into the supplies shed and 'organizing' it for me."

"Fuck!" She took off towards the lake, hanging up before he finished criticizing her for her language. She had no idea what this stupid prize was — he hadn't wanted her to miss out on the fun, so only he and QM knew the details — but she couldn't imagine it was worth all this. "You sure you know what you're doing?" she called as they raced past each other in opposite directions.

"Absolutely!" That response sounded less confident every time she asked, but she didn't have time to coach him through his current problems; she was too busy trying to remember Mr. Campbell's very-inadequate lifeguarding workshop for new counselors.

 _Don't let them pull you under_ , she remembered, lying on her stomach on the edge of the dock and peering into the murky water. _Whatever you do, never tell the authorities anything . . ._ No, wait, that was their "What to do when Mr. Campbell goes on a business trip in the middle of the night" workshop.

Oh, fuck it. She kicked off her shoes, shoved her phone in one of them, and jumped into the water, swearing and choking as it closed over her head. Despite being so close to shore, it was incredibly deep; Lake Lilac was one of those lakes formed by a glacier — or by dynamite in a mining experiment gone wrong, as Mr. Campbell had insinuated more than once — so campers could only wade in to about their waists before the beach dropped off about thirty feet.

She sank down, down . . . and _there_. Harrison and Nerris were both strong swimmers, but they appeared to be too busy fighting over a fishing rod to actually save their lives, so she grabbed both by their collars and hauled them to the shallows, all of them gasping for air. When someone finally got themselves killed, she'd feel bad writing "was a giant idiot" as the Cause of Death . . .

"What the _fuck_ do you idiots think you're doing?" she snarled, snatching the fishing rod from their hands and shoving them toward the shore.

"I was saving Nerris after she clumsily fell off the dock!" Harrison said, his eyes wide with indignant innocence. There was a light gash along his hairline, mostly hidden by his bangs, that had probably come from taking a header off the dock and hitting himself on either the fishing rod, the rocky drop, or Nerris.

"You _puthed_ me!" she shot back, her lisp made worse by her chattering teeth. She turned to Gwen, teary beneath her water-flecked glasses. "He _p-puthed_ me." She wasn't cut up, but her cape was heavy with muddy sand and she couldn't stop shivering.

Gwen hated kids, but she kinda liked these two. Harrison was arrogant and insensitive, and Nerris was the weirdest little freak she'd ever met, but there was something endearing about how unprepared either of them were for reality, and it made her feel oddly protective of them. "Come on, guys. Let's clean you up." Taking their hands, she dragged them to the mess hall, hoping the rest of the campers were taking better care of themselves.

* * *

Despite the day she knew David was having, it was sweet that he made sure to check in and make sure she was doing all right.

" _AAAAAAGGGHHHH!"_

Of course, being David, his timing was horrible. And so were his screams.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!" he wailed, backing into the doorjamb with his hands over his face.

Gwen had frozen halfway through peeling off her soaked shirt. Nerris and Harrison had been patched up and sent on their way, and she'd just returned to her room to get a dry pair of clothes. Whipping it the rest of the way off, she held it over her chest and yelled, "David! Close the fucking door!"

Always believing in the importance of eye contact, he peeked through a gap in his fingers to reply to her, then remembered why he was blinding himself to begin with and snapped his fingers shut. "Right! Sorry!" As she rolled her eyes and kept getting dressed — these kinds of things could only be so horrifying when you had four brothers — he called meekly through the door, "Did everything work out okay?"

"Yeah, great." She sighed, hunting through her closet for another camp shirt. "Two living kids, one drenched counselor, one ruined hat." Wringing out the aviator hat to get rid of the worst of the water, she turned it inside out and left it on her windowsill to dry, hoping that wouldn't crack the leather. (Or the pleather that the saleslady had convinced her looked enough like the real thing.)

Luckily, she had more than one. Enough years at camp had prepared her for every eventuality. Fluffing out her hair, she opened the door and ducked under the bed in search for her hat stash. "So how's your day going, Squatting Bear?" she said, unable to resist snorting at that name.

There was a light thud, and she assumed he'd leaned against her doorframe. "Well, they're enthusiastic, which is a good thing," he said, apparently not finding it weird to have a conversation with her butt, which was all that stuck out from under the bed. "But I wish they understood the purpose of the Order better."

"Well you _did_ just introduce it today. Besides, kids don't really get things like 'goodness' and 'kindness' until they're at least eleven." Not to mention that their summer had consisted of a rather tenuous relationship with Nature, to say the least. Most of them probably connected it to dangerous animals more than the bluebirds and tree-hugging David had in mind. Finally discovering her hat box under a pile of last month's fashion magazines, she emerged from under the bed, shaking the dust bunnies out of her hair. "They probably just need a little time."

 _More than a day_ , she thought, but it was a little late for that now. "Where's my hair tie?" she asked absently, pawing at the pilled gray rug with one hand and snagging a spare hat out of the box with the other. He didn't respond, so after a minute she looked up to see him staring at her like she'd just materialized out of thin air. "What?"

He shook his head, blinking and clearing his throat. "Sorry," he said, a little hoarsely. "I've just never seen you with your hair down before."

"So?"

"You look . . ." He shrugged, scratching the back of his head and looking away. "It's pretty."

Gwen decided not to take that as an insult against how she normally looked; considering the day he was having, he needed to be cut a little slack. Self-conscious anyway, she stood, pulling her hair into a ponytail with one hand. "Well, you should see me when I'm not trying to keep bugs and dirt out of it. I actually have _hairstyles._ Plural." Plopping her hat on and shoving the box (which had another two hats in it, just in case) back under the bed, she added, "I also have more than one shirt, believe it or not."

"Right. The rest of the year." David laughed softly and scuffed his shoe along the rug. "I honestly . . . never mind."

"What?" When he didn't reply, she shoved him with her shoulder, steering them both into the cabin's main hall. "Come on, you've gotta say it now. Tell me while we go get lunch."

He shrugged, looking embarrassed. "I just never really thought of you outside of this camp."

"You mean in real-people clothes, doing real-people things?" She grinned; despite the fact that the day was going to hell in a handbasket, she was starting to enjoy herself. "Can't really picture you outside of camp, either. I assume you wear shorts all year?"

"Not in December," he said defensively. "Usually."

"You fucking animal." She laughed, picking up her pace. "Hurry up, before the kids throw out all the food and feed it to the birds or something."

He groaned. "Don't give them ideas."

"You're _sure_ you have everything under control, David? Because we can call this off and, I dunno, order pizza or something. I'm sure Mr. Campbell didn't totally empty the safe when he visited last week."

"No, it's fine." He gave her a bright grin. "I've got this. And when you guys see what the surprise is, you'll agree that it was all worth it!"

She really, really hoped he was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I had Gwen's hat stand. It's pretty fucking rad.
> 
> Also, I found out that there's an argument in the Camp Camp fandom (yeah, apparently we have arguments. Weird, right?) over whether the light brown section of Gwen's head is a hat or hair. I have made the executive decision that it's an aviator cap, and since I am the Queen of my own fanfic I will not be challenged. I can totally see how it could be hair, and my beta vehemently disagrees with me on this call, but I overruled her with my epic powers of not listening, which is how all the best headcanons are born. Besides, I'm really not sure how she'd get her head two-toned like that. Her hairdresser would have to HATE her. :P


	12. "Is this seriously it?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David's obsessive goodwill and Max's obsessive pessimism come to a head, making Gwen reconsider how she's been treating both the camp and its primarily (or only) cheerleader.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was beta'd by the lovely and talented R.A. Enbows, who you can find at http://raenbowsofficial.tumblr.com. They are wonderful and exceedingly talented, and you should go give them all the love you have in your beautiful hearts! (Yeah, get used to this tag. As long as R.A. keeps editing chapters, I'm gonna keep using it.)
> 
> Need to throw out some credit to HunnyBear for inspiring me with their brilliant rewrite of this scene, "Ruin." Definitely check that bad boy out.

"David?"

Gwen had to admit that the Order of the Sparrow had been an unmitigated disaster — one of his worst ideas by far. And she couldn't help but be disappointed by the "prize" he'd offered the kids; being David, she'd halfway hoped for some outlandish stunt, something that defied common sense and was objectively ridiculous, but kind of awesome at the same time. He had a knack for pulling those out of the air, and she'd expected something a bit more . . . _David_.

Then again, maybe this was the most David-like thing he'd ever done: get excited over something completely stupid and meaningless that no one else cared about. Like a bonfire.

Like this camp.

Like the people in it.

She'd ushered the kids into the mess hall to get out of the rain — and honestly, to end David's humiliation as quickly as possible. It wasn't just second-hand embarrassment that had led her to urge him to let it go; it was because she knew firsthand what it felt like to dig yourself into a deeper and deeper hole until you didn't know how to get out. The best thing to do when the world imploded was to pretend nothing had happened, until people got tired of making fun of it. Watching him frantically try to start the bonfire, she'd been overwhelmed with the need to protect him from himself and his boneheaded inability to know when to quit.

Of course, David didn't feel shame as keenly as some people. She'd always envied his total disregard for what anyone thought of him, though it sometimes made her life difficult. This time, though . . . He'd been more excited about this stupid Order than anything all summer, so once she had the Quartermaster taking care of the kids' impromptu afternoon activity — they'd found several decks of cards buried in the pantry, and when she left he'd been passing out prepackaged desserts to use as poker chips — her first priority was to find him and make sure he was okay. It didn't sound like the bonfire had exploded into a camp-destroying inferno, at least, so she could check that anxiety off her mental list.

Gwen was behind a stand of trees that stood about twenty feet from the clearing when she heard Max's voice. _Goddamn it!_ She should've realized he wasn't with the others and come back for him sooner, before he'd had a chance to pour salt on the wound and rub it in with a metal scrub brush.

"Life sucks, and we live in a world of desensitized, apathetic _assholes_! Why don't you just get with the program and stop giving a shit?"

"That little _fucker_ ," she muttered, picking up her pace (though this made the likelihood of her slipping on wet leaves and bruising her ass rise from 60 percent to a near-certainty). It wasn't that she didn't sympathize with Max. She understood that this was a shithole, and that kids were sent here when their parents had run out of options and just wanted them out of the house. It only took looking at the dilapidated buildings and unprepared staff to realize this wasn't the kind of place that took in kids who were happy and well-adjusted. She understood wanting desperately to go home, even knowing "home" wasn't somewhere you wanted to be — or somewhere you were wanted.

Campbell knew it; hell, he'd centered his entire business plan around it. Seriously, "Pray the Gay Away Camp" _and_ "Pray the Straight Away Camp"? The list of so-called "activities" were literally a joke made up by a sociopathic con man who needed somewhere to launder drug money, and the only real "camp" offered was one that kept children out of trouble for three months. Most of the campers didn't even get letters from home, let alone visits.

And if Gwen had noticed that this was less a summer camp and more an island of misfit toys, there was no way a smart kid like Max hadn't picked up on it the second he stepped off the bus. The only person who hadn't received the memo was David.

She felt for them, really. There had been times when thinking about these kids and their lives outside the camp kept her up in tears. But for God's sake, Max's obsession with making David as miserable as everyone else here had gone way beyond "too far" and straight into "step away from my bear cub" territory. She'd had to spend the summer watching her coworker take a daily emotional beating, his optimism suffering the slings and arrows of this little jerkass, and if David . . .

Fuck, if _he_ lost the ability to keep smiling every day . . .

Well, what hope was there for anyone else?

She took a deep breath, steeling herself to storm in there, drag Max away by his stupidly adorable curls, and throw him into a corner until he apologized, but David's response stopped her.

"The campers don't care. Gwen doesn't care. Even the founder of this place has better things to do." There was a beat of silence, and she wondered if it would be tacky and insensitive to try and move to a place where she could see what was going on (her love of TV dramas really got the better of her sometimes. So did her eavesdropping habit). "That's why I'll never stop trying. Because somebody fucking has to."

It wasn't clear whether Max had been stunned into silence by David agreeing with him or the fact that he'd actually used profanity for the first time all summer. Hell, it was the first time she'd heard him swear in the four years they'd known each other, and for a moment she felt like lightning had struck _her_. (Instead, it had hit the tree next to her, one of the ones with QM's homemade lightning rods attached to the top. It was kind of a relief to know those things worked.)

She debated interrupting the moment before Max recovered and said something really shitty, but . . . she wasn't sure she'd be able to meet David's eyes. Turning away like hearing more would physically hurt her, she headed back the way she'd come, marinating in David's words and the shame that soured her stomach.

Okay, it wasn't like she'd _hidden_ the fact that this was hardly her favorite place. In fact, that she was able to get away with so openly not caring was just another reason to hate it; if the camp had any sort of standards, she would've been fired long ago for her unprofessional behavior, including all the times she'd cursed in front of — and at — the kids. But Mr. Campbell cared about his counselors exactly as much as he cared about the campers: enough to not get sued, and not a penny more. So she was frustrated by her working conditions. And she was disappointed that the things she'd dreamed of back in college weren't showing any signs of materializing. And she was tired of her parents insinuating that she could move back in with them any time if "real life becomes too much to handle," and she was even more tired of feeling like it really _was_ too much, and maybe she belonged in their basement.

Gwen hated this camp, because the only reason she'd never been sent here as a kid was that her parents hadn't known about it, and if they had, it would've hurt their reputations to send one of their children to such a lowly place. She hated having to tell them it was nicer than it was so they wouldn't judge her for not being able to get a better job, and to come up with lies about why they couldn't visit her and see where she worked. It would only take a glance to realize that she'd made it sound like a country club when it really was just . . . country. And not even the rustic, charming kind of country where Amish people lived, but the country where every other basement was a meth lab.

So, _fine_. Camp Campbell made her feel like the good-for-nothing failure she was, and she took her frustration out on it every chance she could get. She got a perverse joy in shitting on the place, and a strange solidarity with the campers for hating it almost as much as she did. Whatever, no one was perfect, and she'd never deluded herself into thinking she was Mother Theresa or something.

The problem was, she'd kind of hoped David had missed all of that. He was really good at glossing over people's flaws, to the point where she — and most people, she suspected — assumed he just didn't see them. But apparently he was a lot more observant than he looked, and knowing that he'd noticed every snide comment and refusal to go the extra mile purely out of laziness and spite . . . it didn't feel great.

Shit, she was gonna have to apologize to him and try to be a better person. This was all Max's fault.

That short little son of a bitch.

The lights of the mess hall had just come into view when Max's voice cut through the rain, more urgent than she'd ever heard it. "David!" Then, louder and higher pitched: " _Gwen?!_ "

She immediately broke into a sprint, turning her back on the warm, bright hall and bursting full-speed into the gloom. She'd probably break her legs and slide down the hill on her face, but that seemed small and unimportant compared to the throat-tearing panic she'd heard from the kid who was supposedly never scared of anything. "What happened?" she called, skidding into the clearing and catching herself on a tree branch, ignoring the throbbing bruise on her knee that she'd acquired somewhere on her way down.

Max looked so tiny standing next to the ruined bonfire. The way he talked made her sometimes forget that he was only ten years old, but when he turned to her, his wide, wet eyes made him look so much younger. "D-David . . . he . . ." Giving up, he turned back to the pile of wood, pulling logs back as well as his meager strength would allow.

Her throat squeezed shut. She hurried to his side, hauling away the wet firewood with a strength she was positive she didn't possess. When she found David, he had a hideous-looking bruise on his forehead. "Oh, Christ. What did you _do_ , you idiot?"

Max had given up on digging when he couldn't keep up with her, and stood back with his hands in his pockets. "Is it bad?" he asked, not moving forward. If anything, he seemed to shrink further into his oversized hoodie.

Right. She was a counselor, which meant she had to be a grown-up. "I think he's okay," she said, hoping that sounded more confident to Max's ears than her own. "It's not bleeding, which is good. He's got some scrapes and bruises from the wood, and he'll probably have a lot of splinters to pick out in the morning, but it could be a lot worse. I-I don't think he'll need to go to the hospital or anything."

He shuffled forward. "Can I . . . help?"

"I think you've done plenty." His face crumpled, and he took a big step back like she'd swung at him. Gwen pinched the bridge of her nose. _Good job, asshole_. "Max, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. I'm just worried." She dug in her pocket for her phone and tossed it at him. "The Quartermaster's in the contacts. Tell him to get down here with the first-aid kit. And the second-aid kit. Tell him there's been an accident." She began shifting the logs to uncover David's lower half, listening to Max furiously pound the touchscreen.

"There's no reception."

Of _course_ there wasn't. "Okay, one of us needs to stay with him and one of us should go to the mess hall and get the Quartermaster. It's kind of slippery, so maybe you should st —"

"I'll go." He turned and sprinted up the hill.

"Be careful! Don't . . . run . . ." Fat lot of good that would do, but she was contractually obligated to say it.

David was breathing — something Gwen probably should've checked a lot sooner, but Mr. Campbell had never thought to give them a "What to do if your coworker is buried under a massive pile of wood" workshop. As she gently shifted him to his back — careful not to move his head too much — he groaned and stirred, but didn't wake.

"Oh thank God, David." She rested her forehead on his chest for a moment, savoring the steady, strong heartbeat, and breathed out for what felt like the first time in ten minutes. "Just keep being okay, okay? I'm really, _really_ not ready to lose you."

* * *

The Quartermaster had declared David unlikely to die, but that he probably shouldn't be moved "so his head won't fall off." The kids had braved the rain — which had faded to a light drizzle — to see what was going on, and it was while they were gathered around the wrecked bonfire that Max surprised them all.

"We should probably do that stupid fire thing." His eyes were still lined with worry, but his expression had returned to something resembling its typical surliness. "I mean, if he wakes up and finds out everyone just spent the day fighting over stale cookies, he might go into the woods and blow his brains out or something."

" _Oooh_." Nikki's eyes grew wide at the thought, but a glare from her friends shut her up.

"Vhat do you haff in mind?" Dolph asked. Everyone except the Problem Children were keeping their distance, standing on tiptoes to try and get a glimpse of David's head wound as QM patched it up.

Clearly uncomfortable with being put in charge, but seeming just as wary of asking Gwen for help — his eyes darted in her direction, but immediately away when she met his gaze — Max shrugged, bending down to pick up one of the lighter logs. "I dunno. It's not like I'm good at this kinda thing. But, like, we could at least put the fire back and try to light it —"

"Explosives? I'm on it!" Nikki exclaimed. Neil quickly volunteered to help so she wouldn't accidentally turn the campsite into a smoking crater. (Much to Nikki's disappointment. "Way to be a buzzkill, Neil!")

"Okay. Good." He gave them an almost-smile, obviously more surprised by their loyalty than Gwen was. (If her head had been less filled with thoughts of "oh my God David's gonna die no wait he isn't but oh my God he could've died is this my fault I'm a terrible counselor oh my God David's gonna die" — which continued on a running loop almost as irritating as that awful song David kept trying to make happen — the part of her brain that housed her Psych degree would've started whirring with a diagnosis if Max: _Deeply insecure, trusts his friends but not their affection, apathy disguising fear of rejection . . ._ Of course, had she been _really_ concentrating on all that, she might've noticed she was describing herself as well. That would've pissed her off, so she tuned back into the "oh my God David's gonna die" station, which was loud enough to nearly block out all other frequencies, anyway.)

The Quartermaster had finished wrapping up David's head, and was awkwardly balancing it on the flat side of his hook. "Shouldn't leave him in the mud like this," he muttered. "Head could get infected and fall off."

His obsession with extremities falling off made Gwen once again wonder what had happened to his hand. "Here," she said, shifting so that she was sitting with her legs folded under her. "If you keep the kids from killing each other, I'll take care of David." They awkwardly maneuvered him so that his head and shoulders were lying across her thighs, her palm resting gently on his forehead to keep his bandage dry.

Meanwhile, the other campers had gathered in a semicircle around Max, starting to get into planning the ceremony. "We should have Indian outfits, too," Harrison was saying.

"I'll design the costumes! They'll be _perfect!_ " Preston jumped up and down, waving his hand like he was in school. "I want Nerris and Ered to be my assistants, stat!" At the others' puzzled looks, he explained, "They have the most nimble fingers. Obviously."

"Cool," Ered said with a shrug, while Nerris fumbled in her pockets for her dexterity-boosting amulet.

"Max, maybe you should help with the clothes," Neil suggested. "Be the cultural advisor or emissary or something."

Nurf shook his head, looking surprisingly thoughtful. "I think that's the wrong kind of Ind —"

"But von't it be too hot for such heavy clothes?" Dolph asked, gesturing around. The rain had all but stopped, and the humid air was beginning to heat up again.

Neil rolled his eyes. " _India's_ hot, Dolph. Haven't you ever been?"

"No."

He frowned. "Me neither. Max?"

"What the fuck, guys? I was born here!" Giving up on the bonfire, he let the Quartermaster take over organizing the wood back into a teepee shape. "Just use Google or something."

Space Kid shook his head. "But . . . David took our phones when we got here." They all groaned; it was Camp Campbell's policy, part of a way to keep them "in tune with nature." They were locked in a safe in the counselors' cabin and weren't returned until moving-out day.

Max still had Gwen's, though. He pulled it out of his pocket and tossed it to Preston. "Use LTE or whatever." Not meeting her eyes, he called, "That cool, Gwen?"

She sighed. It was as much of a challenge as a question, and she was still feeling guilty for snapping at him. "Sure, guys," she said, wincing inwardly at the thought of her phone bill.

"This is going to be _great!_ Come, assistants! Find only the most _spectacular_ Indian outfits! We are going to make _The Lion King_ look like a garbage heap!"

"Yeth, thir!"

"Cool."

Max knelt down, picking up the two slightly-soggy halves of David's staff. "We got any tape, Space Kid?"

"I'll get it!" He toddled off to the mess hall, stumbling in the wet leaves and nearly falling over several times. The rest of the campers followed, straggling in groups of two and three until the only people remaining were her, Max, and the Quartermaster, who was putting the finishing touches on the bonfire. (David was there too, but he didn't have much to add to the conversation.)

"This is a good idea, Max," she finally said. "Thanks."

Scoffing, he turned away. "Whatever. It's not like we had anything better to do." Still, he hugged the two pieces of the staff to his chest with remarkable care for someone who didn't give a shit.

Satisfied with his handiwork, QM tried to gently usher Max up the hill; the latter ducked to avoid getting hook-speared in the eye. "Come on, child. Let's get that there stick dried out and stuck back together before anyone's head falls off."

Left alone with only David's regular breaths for company, Gwen looked out over the lake. "It really is nice weather for a fire," she said, remembering that unconscious people could still hear conversations. Or was that fetuses? "I mean, it will be, once it cools down and dries out." David sighed, drawing one of his hands to his chest.

"You know, it's not like I don't _care_ ," she said suddenly. "I mean, I'd feel bad if this place burned down. And I want the kids to not totally hate it here. But we have no money to give them the stuff they really want to do. Why _wouldn't_ I get frustrated about that? Am I supposed to just pretend this is the camp of their dreams and try and force them to believe it? That doesn't work, David."

He didn't have anything to say to that.

"Okay, that wasn't really fair. I'm sorry. I shouldn't take out my feelings on you all the time. It's just . . . I'm so jealous!" The revelation didn't seem to startle David as much as her; he just let out a sleepy grunt and turned his head to the side, rubbing his cheek against the hem of her shorts. She gently brushed his damp hair away from the bandage and continued, "You're younger than I am and you have your life figured out. Like, yeah, you don't have any more money than I do, but you're so happy with your job. I don't know if you have stupidly low expectations or what, but somehow you managed to have a dream that's actually possible, and it's already in your hands."

Her eyes were getting teary. Jesus, pre- pre- pre-menstrual hormones plus an emotional rollercoaster of her coworker nearly dying were making her so fucking _girly_. She hated it.

"I . . ." She gulped, sniffling and a little afraid she was going to drip snot on his face. "I wish I was as happy doing _anything_ as you are waking up every day in this stupid camp. And we give you shit, but you're actually good at this kinda thing. You need to work on the whole 'relating to actual people instead of the idealized versions you've created in your head,' but everyone's bad at that. Do you know how rare it is to not suck at what you love to do?"

There was a distant scream and a crash from the mess hall. Dimly she heard Preston shout "STEP AWAY FROM THE SEWING MACHINE, YOU CLUMSY OAF!" and the Quartermaster threatening everyone to sit down before any heads fell off.

"I think you're gonna be pretty happy when you wake up. I mean, you're always happy, and you're going to have a hell of a headache, but what the kids are doing is pretty cool. And they're doing it because of you." Sure, Max would insist he was just preventing a suicide/multiple-homicide situation, but she didn't often take him at face value anymore. "You inspire that kind of thing, David. They all know you'd do it for them in a second." Glancing up at the pieced-together fire, she added, "I mean, you already tried to. And it's not your fault it was so out of touch and racist. Which, remind me that we need to talk about why that 'Squatting Bear' thing is totally not okay." Both worried and hoping he'd wake up, she rested her hand on the one splayed across his chest, just able to cover it with her fingers spread as far as they'd go. "It's because you're a good guy. I wish I was like that . . . but, you know, not a guy." Gwen couldn't imagine anyone doing something like this for her.

Well, anyone but David, but that was just the kind of person he was. He'd open the door and cook dinner for Michael Meyers, and with his last breath apologize for getting blood on his hockey mask.

He seemed to be getting closer to waking up; his sleep-movements and noises were becoming more frequent. Gwen risked moving slightly to stretch her back, sighing with relief as it cracked.

"Mmm." She froze, but David didn't wake up. He let out a soft snuffling noise and drew his other arm up beside his head, grazing her thigh with his thumb. Her leg tingling ( _from falling asleep_ , she told herself), she gently moved his hand away.

"Don't be a perv," she said, laughing at the ludicrousness of that statement. He replied with another sleepy hum and rolled onto his side, awkwardly wriggling to position his shoulder out of the way of her legs. "Christ, you really do sleep like a little kid." Just to experiment, she poked his shoulder, then tapped on the shell of his ear with her fingernails. When he didn't respond, she smiled and let him sleep in peace, watching the clouds drift by and losing track of time.

"Hey." Max emerged out of the trees, holding the duct-taped staff and dressed in a beautiful blue Nehru jacket, a faded yellow/gold scarf wrapped around his neck and arms. "He awake yet?"

"Almost." She eased out from under him and stood, wincing at the pins-and-needles of her legs waking up. "I think the ground's dry enough for him to lay on, anyway."

"Yeah, it cleared up." Jesus, were they seriously talking about the weather? Seeming disgusted with the small talk as well, Max scowled and muttered, "The others are almost ready. They're just finishing up and then we'll light the fire. And, uh, here."

Wow, they were done already? She took the phone Max held out to her and realized that she'd been sitting with David for almost four hours. "Thanks. You look great," she said, trying to keep the surprise out of her voice. But to be fair, it was amazing what they'd been able to make so quickly. And _all_ the campers had costumes like this? "I like the, you know . . ." She gestured feebly at her shoulders. "Jacket thing."

"Sherwani." He clearly thought she was an uncultured idiot, but didn't seem totally displeased by the compliment. "You look like shit."

" _Thanks_." Looking down at herself, he was right. Her socks were brown with mud, her thighs and ass were splattered as well, and basically she looked like she'd spent the afternoon sitting in the rain. "I guess I'll look even worse next to all of you guys, huh?"

"At least nobody'll look more like shit than David." They looked down at the sleeping counselor, then met each other's eyes for the first time in hours. He sighed. "Go get changed. I can watch him and make sure he doesn't roll into the fire or whatever." His mouth twitched in what was almost a smile. "Besides, we took CPR Camp earlier this summer, so I'm practically a medical expert."

Part of Gwen really didn't want to leave, but she knew Max was right. And somehow, despite everything, he was the kid she trusted the most. "Good idea. I'll be right back."

"Hurry, or the camp will fall apart without your excellent counseling abilities." He rolled his eyes. She was tempted to tease him, call him a prick like she usually would, but her words from earlier still echoed between them, and she knew she'd have to make up for hurting his feelings before she'd be comfortable giving him shit again.

Normally she rated days by how many times she'd had to change clothes. A one-outfit day could be considered a success, with each successive wardrobe malfunction serving as another step down the "Shit-O-Meter." Three changes _and_ two soaked hats? Normally that would be nothing short of Armageddon.

But as she laid out her second hat to dry and ducked under the bed for her stash, she realized that this was somehow one of the nicest afternoons she'd ever had.

* * *

"Wow." Gwen stepped forward, peering out over the lake. "It got dark fast."

David followed her gaze. "Yeah. It's one of my favorite things about being away from the city."

"Feels kinda creepy to me." As the kids shuffled off to their tents, and David and the Quartermaster worked on putting out the bonfire, she realized there was a conversation she still really needed to have. "See you in the cabin," she called to David, jogging after the campers and searching for three particular mops of hair. "Max! Can I talk to you for a sec?"

The Problem Children turned, and Neil and Nikki glanced warily between her and Max, who stood between them. He nodded resignedly, handing his staff to Neil. "I'll be up in a minute," he told them. Then, softer, in response to something Nikki had murmured, "Yeah, I'll be fine. No, you don't need to stand guard. Just go to fucking bed already."

He didn't meet her, watching her walk all the way over with his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed. Which, yeah, she kinda deserved. "Hey."

"Hi." He took a deep breath, then blurted out, "Look, if this is about David, I swear I didn't mean to hurt him, I just —"

Gwen realized the look on his face was nervousness, not irritation. "No, no! This is actually about me." He stared at her blankly, and she groaned. She hated admitting she was wrong. "Listen, I wanted to apologize for what I said earlier. You don't have anything to feel bad about, and I definitely shouldn't have made you feel like you did."

Max's jaw tensed, his gaze resolutely on their feet. "Besides being the kind of shithead who drives people to hate themselves, you mean."

"Don't you ever think that." His eyes flicked up to hers, startled by the firmness in her tone. It surprised her a bit, too, but it was the most sure she'd felt of anything since she started working here. "It was an _accident_ , Max. I just overheard some of what you were talking about —"

"No shit." He snorted. "I thought . . . that was why you were so mad at me."

Damn it, she wanted nothing more than to hug the poor kid until he forgave her. "I wasn't mad at you, Max. And I'm not. I felt bad because of what he said, and I was guilty and pissed off, and I took it out on you." Now she was the one who looked away. "It's kind of a thing I do a lot to people." _And camps_.

She'd accidentally left him an opening to make fun of her, and braced herself for a comment on her general awfulness as a person. But he didn't take the sucker-punch. "Yeah. I guess I know that feeling."

"But you're a kid," she pointed out. "You're allowed to be an asshole. When you're grown-up, you're supposed to be mature and stuff."

He paused, weighing her words and seeming to study her face for sincerity. Finally he said, "If it makes you feel better, most of the adults I know are immature assholes, so it's not like you're the only one. _Not_ that I was trying to make you feel better. Just saying. Adults suck, and you only suck as much as most of them."

"Thanks," she said, half-sarcastic. There was an awkward pause, then she asked, "So . . . are you okay? You're don't need to, like, see a shrink or something? Because I bet someone in Sleepy Peak could —"

He looked genuinely disgusted, and that expression more than anything else reassured her that he was fine. "God, you better not make me stare at ink blots and talk about my parents to someone with a useless degree and a bunch of bullshit theories that make no sense."

"Hey, I majored in Psychology!"

"I know." Max smirked, the closest to a real smile anyone could coax out of him — except maybe David, but it took a brain injury to even do that. "Consider it revenge for being such a huge bitch earlier."

"Deal." She shook his hand, knowing he was letting her off easy. "Thanks, Max."

"You're the one letting me stay up after hours." He looked up at the stars, his expression softening to something almost peaceful. "Maybe if you guys didn't shove us in tents as soon as it got nice out, we wouldn't hate the outdoors so much."

"I'll mention that to David." There really wasn't anything to say, but she had to be the adult and small-talk her way out of the conversation. "Do you need to be walked back? I know it's kinda dark out . . ."

That did it. He rolled his eyes, turning around and heading to his tent. As she turned away, though, he called back to her. "And he's seriously gonna be okay, right? You're not bullshitting us because we're kids?"

"He'll be fine. It doesn't look like he has a concussion" — miraculously — "so he'll probably have a headache for a few days, but it's really not bad."

"Good." And again, when she thought he'd left without another word. "Though what kind of idiot kicks a bonfire? We shouldn't even have had this conversation: obviously it's all _his_ fault for being too fucking dumb to know better."

Gwen smiled. Okay, maybe she could understand why David liked this kid.


	13. "Camp Campbell is the place for me and you."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The longest day in the history of Camp Campbell comes to an end, but the counselors are still up and about and confessing all sorts of embarrassing things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was beta'd by the lovely and talented R.A. Enbows, who you can find at http://raenbowsofficial.tumblr.com. They are wonderful and exceedingly talented, and you should go give them all the love you have in your beautiful hearts! (Yeah, get used to this tag. As long as R.A. keeps editing chapters, I'm gonna keep using it.) Addendum: Seriously, they were so unbelievably supportive and kept me from burning this chapter to the ground when I decided I hated everything about it. They're good people, and I couldn't appreciate it more.

"Uh, Gwen . . ."

Even after her conversation with Max, she'd somehow beaten David back to the cabin. _Probably had to triple-check the fire was out_ , she thought, poking her head out of her bedroom. "Yeah?"

David had just finished locking the door to their cabin and was startled by her sudden appearance. He managed to avoid dropping his keys and shoved them into his shorts pocket with way more care than was warranted; if it was any other guy, Gwen would have thought he was stalling, or hiding something. "Oh, uh, I just . . . you know, wanted to . . ."

"You need a fresh bandage?" She had a drawer in her bedroom specifically for what couldn't fit in the bathroom's tiny medicine cabinet. It was even labeled with his name for convenience.

"No, no! Well, probably not. I . . . oh, gosh darn it." His face hardened in determination, almost comically serious.

"Wha — ?" The next thing she knew, her nose was pressed against his sternum as he wrapped her in a bone-crushing hug. She squeaked in surprise and discomfort, and for the first time since she'd met him, he had the sense to loosen his grip so she wasn't afraid of being choked to death.

His voice was muffled a bit (she'd removed her hat but hadn't taken her hair down yet, and because of their modest height difference he'd gotten a mouthful of ponytail) when he said, "Sorry. I'm trying to be better about respecting your boundaries —" she suspected this new resolution was in part motivated by the Gloria Steinham book she'd thrown at his head a few weeks ago, in a period-induced rage "— but after what you and the others did for me, I just couldn't help but hug you!"

"Don't worry about it." She turned her head so that her nose wasn't in danger of being broken and tried to relax; if uninterrupted, David hugs could go on for several minutes, and she wasn't going to push him away after the day they'd had. Besides, it was almost nice now that she didn't have to worry about serious bodily harm.

Was this what well-adjusted people who hadn't been starved for physical affection did? Hug and not have it be horribly awkward or painful? If so, she could see herself getting used to it.

His hands fluttered for a moment — she could practically see in his mind's eye the diagram of places not to touch — before landing hesitantly, one on the middle of her back and one across her shoulder blades. "Thank you."

God, this better not make her cry. After today's drama, a _Dilbert_ comic could probably make her cry, so she'd have to tread very carefully. "About that." _Deep breath, eyes closed, we're not crying._ "Listen, I heard a little bit of your conversation with Max, and I —"

"Oh." To her surprise, his arms tightened around her, and his next words were spoken through a bubble of unshed tears. "Gwen, I'm so sorry, I never meant to imply that you didn't care, because I know you have such a big heart and —"

Panic seized in her throat and she pushed him back, keeping her hands on his chest so she could see his face. If he cried, she was _definitely_ going to, and then there'd be two emotional wrecks and she'd finished off her stash of chocolate on her last period and the mess hall was closed, so what would they do then? Did Sleepy Peak have any chocolate stores open after ten p.m.? "No, I really don't," she interrupted, "but that's not what I was going to say. I just wanted to apologize because —"

"— you're always so helpful with activities and never give up, even though I know being here isn't always easy —"

"— I'm your coworker and we're supposed to be a team, and I haven't been supporting you and that's selfish —"

Realizing they were talking over each other, they both stopped abruptly, waiting for the other to finish. He finally broke the silence with an awkward half-smile. "We're being silly, aren't we?"

The tension between them snapped, and with it her urge to break into a sobbing mess everywhere. "Silly?" she repeated with am exaggerated groan, letting her head fall forward until her forehead _thunked_ against his chest. "God, you're lame."

"Lame means uncool, right?"

"Very."

David chuckled, dropping his hands from her shoulders and resuming the hug. That was another thing about him: hugs never really ended. They just paused until they were picked up again. "You know how I know you care?"

"Because I read a lot of mushy romance novels?" Several of which had randomly disappeared over the summer, only to return to the living room after a few days . . .

"No!" He shuffled his feet awkwardly (moving them a few inches to the left, since they were kind of connected), and Gwen realized he was self-conscious. The man who felt no shame dressing up like the low-budget gay bar version of a racist Halloween costume was actually _embarrassed_ about something? "You sang the theme song."

She was glad he couldn't see her face grow red, but he might've felt it heat up by ten degrees. "I mean, it wasn't hard. I live right next to you, so I've heard the damn thing a thousand times. I've basically got it memorized by now."

"And did the Quartermaster _also_ have it memorized?" He sounded pleased with himself, the smug bastard.

Unfortunately, he was right. While the campers took the task of lighting the bonfire into their own hands, which she later realized should've involved a lot more adult oversight, she and QM had spent almost an hour practicing David's dumb song. She hadn't sung it slower because it sounded pretty (though it did), but so he could keep up with chords he'd written on his good hand twenty minutes earlier. "It wasn't exactly Beethoven's fifth, David. He picked it up pretty quick."

"Well, I still appreciate it." The quiet glee in his voice told her that he wasn't buying her excuses, and was going to continue thinking she was a good person despite her protestations. So what if he thought she was sweet, even though there were four summers' worth of evidence to the contrary? It wasn't like he'd be the first person to put too much faith in her. Her heart sinking, she tightened her grip around his waist, feeling distressingly close to tears again. "Gwen? What's wrong?" Sensing her distress, he started to pet her hair with his left hand, stroking her ponytail flat against her neck.

Jesus, how much niceness could a person have in them before they exploded?

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to stay calm. "Stop believing in me," she whispered. That had sounded _way_ less pitiful in her head, though maybe it was because her mental voice hadn't quavered near the end.

"What?" David let out a little disbelieving laugh. "Why would I do that?"

 _Shit shit shit_. She balled up wads of his shirt in her fists, refusing to talk until she had control. "I don't want to disappoint you, too."

He rested his chin on top of her head, and she started to worry that he'd been standing for too long and was getting tired. He was hurt, he needed to take it easy, and instead he was standing in an overheated hallway dealing with someone else's emotional issues . . . "How could I ever find you disappointing? You've done so many wonderful things already!"

"Uh . . . _what?_ " She knew he was optimistic, but there was a difference between positivity and just straight-up lying, right?

One of his arms tightened around her shoulders, and she turned her head to see that he was ticking things off with his fingers with the other hand. "You have two whole degrees, you live on your own in _New York City_ " — she'd spoken to enough out-of-towners to know that David was one of those people who thought a cockroach-infested studio apartment split between three people was glamorous — "and you chose to pursue your dreams instead of doing what your parents wanted, even though that must've been really hard and scary."

She cringed. Apparently she'd let more slip about her family life than she'd intended. "I mean, when you put it like that it sounds a bit less pathetic . . ."

" _Pathetic_? Gwen, you're so brave!" He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back, digging into her collarbones like he could impress his confidence into her skin with his fingertips. She could get used to him looking at her like this, his eyes shining with appreciation like she was special and worthwhile. It was strange to suddenly crave validation from someone whose admiration she'd always taken for granted, but suddenly it was very important that he considered her someone worth believing in.

Unfortunately, there was another issue she had to bring up, something she'd thought a lot about during her afternoon watching over him. Biting her lip and looking down at the floor, she let out an uncomfortable laugh. "Man, now I feel kinda bad . . ."

"Why?" She didn't have to see him to know his head was cocked to the side, his hair flopping into his eyes.

Pre- pre- pre-menstrual hormones weren't a thing. She'd looked it up on her phone during the bonfire, and there was no illness or condition that explained her mood over the past several weeks. And that meant . . . "Well, I want to kiss you, but you've been such a gentleman I feel a little like I'm . . ." _Taking advantage_ _of your irrational kindness and goodwill toward everyone._ "Ruining the moment."

David tensed up like he'd been electrocuted, dropping his hands from her shoulders and backing away until he hit the cabin door. When she found the courage to look up at him, she saw his face was the kind of cheesy pale that people usually only got when they were going to throw up.

Not exactly the reaction she'd been hoping for.

At least she hadn't just thrown herself at him, a distant, disconnected part of her brain observed. It was good to keep in mind, when confessing romantic interest in a friend and coworker who obviously didn't feel the same way and in fact looked horrified at the very idea, that things could always be worse.

"Gwen . . . w-we can't."

"Right." She ran her hand over her ponytail, trying in vain to smooth it down like _that_ would change how he saw her, and took a shaky step away. "Of course, that's crazy. You're injured, and you're not interested in me like that, for all I know you're gay or not into anyone or, like, already seeing someone at home and —" _Oh my god, he totally has a girlfriend at home._

A few minutes ago the idea would've seemed laughable, but now she could see it in horrible clarity: a small, peppy blonde with freckles and high cheekbones and at least one dimple and small, peppy breasts carefully hidden under tasteful sweaters. They probably went to church together and took regular camping trips, which she loved because she was as excited about nature as David, and she probably never complained or swore or read smut or watched trashy tv and she didn't have an ass the size of a municipality (not one of those sexy Kardashian asses, but a dimpled, cellulited monstrosity that Gwen was half-afraid would accidentally kill someone). Her name was Chelsea, probably, or Susan. Something with sibilant consonants and a cute way to shorten it. She probably called him Davey and had to stand on her tiptoes to kiss him, and she didn't need makeup because she was pale and smooth and perfect and her lips were that kind of pink that most women had to find in a tube, and she probably loved his job because she'd adored summer camp as a kid, she'd been in something like the Flower Scouts and still volunteered at their bake sales.

Was she a teacher or a mountain ranger? Gwen wondered. Did she volunteer at homeless shelters or animal shelters, or both? Did she and Dave take classes together to get ideas for camp? Had they already decided how many kids they wanted?

She was hardly aware of sliding down to the floor, or of burying her face in her hands and hiding against her drawn-up legs. She just knew that she couldn't look at him, and if her mind didn't stop buzzing with thought of Fiona or Tiffany or Abigail, she was going to have a full-scale panic attack.

This was stupid. And unfair. And _stupid!_ This should've been resolved years ago, and she'd thought it had been — for God's sake, she'd believed he was a child the first time they met! She knew what she wanted, and what she wanted had dark hair, a square jaw, and deep purple bruises under his eyes like any sexy vampire or time traveler. She'd been sort-of seeing someone her first summer at Camp Campbell, anyway, and he was the jealous type who snuck up to visit almost twice a month, so it had been relatively easy to flick off the "interested" switch on David immediately. She'd even kept an eye out for friends she could set him up with, because she recognized that a tall, green-eyed redhead who was in his twenties, didn't live with his parents, and loved children was a serious catch. Just . . . not hers, because she'd already decided not to look at him like that. The switch had been flipped, and that was that.

But then stupid Bonquisha had made her rethink basically everything, and then stupid David had started being all sweet and vulnerable — which he'd always been, but she started actually _paying attention_ to it — and suddenly stupid Gwen was here, and he wasn't, and now she was sad and everything was horrible. Maybe she should've been grateful to Bonquisha for making her realize exactly what kind of fuckhead qualities she looked for in guys, but having her heart broken by a douchebag didn't feel all that much worse than being rejected by someone who actually thought she was worth something. On the a scale of one to _New Moon_ , they weren't very far on the pain front.

She was vaguely aware that he was saying her name, though it didn't fully register until his large, warm hands closed around her wrists and pulled them away from her face. Seeing his expression made her want to snatch her hands back. She wasn't sure she could stand such a gentle, concerned look for another second, not when she felt so completely undeserving of it. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice too loud in the small space. She started scrambling to her feet, but with David kneeling so close in front of her she really didn't have room to stand, and instead skittered against the smooth wood like a bug on its back. "I didn't mean to . . . it's just been a really bad day, and I know you need to sleep and probably call Ashley and tell her about your day and the crazy girl who threw herself at you —"

"Ashley?" His forehead crinkled in a way she refused to consider adorable. _Flip it back, goddamn it, flip the fucking switch back!_ "Gwen, I don't think you're crazy. And I'm not seeing anyone, or not . . . _not_ interested in you." She stared at him without the words registering at all (the double negative hadn't helped), and he sighed, rubbing his face with one hand. "I think you're the most incredible person I've ever met," he continued, looking way too miserable for a declaration of . . . whatever this was. "You're smart, and funny, and a good person even if you don't think so, and you're really . . . you know, beautiful." He was bright red from his collar to his ears, and he couldn't quite meet her eyes anymore. "And . . . it's not like I don't want to kiss you, too." He glanced up at her expectantly, but she couldn't have replied even if she knew what to say. The gears in her brain had ground to a halt, and she wasn't confident she was breathing, let alone capable of words. When she didn't speak, he groaned and added, "But counselors can't . . . It's against the _rules._ It's there in the Employee Handbook, and I could — we could lose our jobs." He grabbed her hands, looking desperate for her to believe him. "They might never let me come back, Gwen, and I just . . . I c- _can't_ . . ."

The crack in his voice jolted her, and she felt her mind wheeze to life again. "I get it," she said, letting out a sigh that was somewhere between relief and crushing disappointment. Fucking Cameron Campbell couldn't make a rule about always having running water, but he'd bothered to outlaw staff making out in their off hours? Why the hell had _that_ been a priority?

But she wasn't going to try and ruin David's dream. She absolutely wasn't worth that — nothing was, but definitely not her. "You're right. It's too important, and I wouldn't want you to endanger your jo —" Gwen's words were cut off by a pair of slightly-chapped lips mashing into hers, one of David's hands coming around to cup the base of her skull and the other resting lightly on her hip. If her mouth hadn't been closing around a "b," they probably would have knocked teeth. "Mmph, wait, _wait_ —" She planted her hands on his shoulders and pushed him away. As much as she liked the idea of honing his inexpert kissing skills, she'd meant it when she said she didn't want to fuck up his life. "What about the Employee Handbook?"

"I-I'm sorry! You were just being so understanding, and I . . . well, you know." His eyes were huge and a little bit terrified, but he managed a cheeky smile. "I guess . . . if Mr. Campbell doesn't need to know about the Quartermaster's secret cigarette stash or Wednesday Movie Nights —" those were an idea Gwen had instituted, where they broke the camp's ten o'clock curfew to let the kids watch the old movies they found in the mess hall's attic "— then maybe we can bend some of the rules when he's not around."

She wanted to point out that this was less _bending_ and more straight-up _breaking_ , but she also wanted to bury her fingers in his hair and drag his face back to hers. Her conscience finally won out. "David, I don't know if this is a good idea. And this might all just be the result of brain damage or something, so . . . what if you regret it?"

He took one of her hands off his shoulders and linked their fingers. "Maybe if I'd never thought about this before, but this isn't spur-of-the-moment. I _like_ you — have for a while. I love this job, but I also think Mr. Campbell would understand."

Admittedly, Gwen had a hard time imagining their boss bothering to fire his best employees, especially when that meant hunting down new counselors who'd be as willing to keep him hidden from the authorities and not ask about the kilo of something and swastika-engraved gold he kept in the safe. She started to concede his point, but something he'd said clicked belatedly. "What do you mean, a while?"

He looked puzzled. "A year, maybe two. Why?"

She felt like she'd been winded. "A _year_ or two?" Christ, she'd thought _she_ was pining? "I feel a bit late to the party."

"That's okay," he said. The backs of his fingers brushed her cheek, pushing a coil that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear. "I didn't mind waiting." He blushed, quickly backpedaling. "N-not that I was waiting like I thought you _had_ to — even if you never felt the same way I still would've — I'm happy just to be friends with you! I don't . . . expect anything."

_"He shy — and obviously crazy about you, Gloomy Girl."_

Gwen would have to send Bonquisha a gift basket or something.

She looped her arms around his neck, pulling them backward until she was pressed against the wall with him leaning over her. "I still feel like I have a lot of lost time to make up," she teased, giddy from relief, excitement, and hormones that had nothing to do with her period. If this kept up she might actually giggle (which was truly grotesque and frightening). "So, since you've had more time to think about it . . . any fun camp activities planned for us?" She expected that to embarrass him, maybe make him laugh, but his eyes went wide like she'd casually suggested hardcore anal. She started to apologize, thinking maybe she'd insulted or scandalized him, but then he pressed his lips together and glanced down at her chest, a gorgeous pink flush spreading across his face. Her answering grin was surprised, delighted, and just the tiniest bit evil. _No way._ Camp talk _gets him off?_

Oblivious, David fumbled for an answer. "I . . . I mean, I don't . . . um, maybe?"

This theory needed further testing, so she leaned forward until their noses were almost touching. "Oh, Brother David?" she cooed, keeping her voice and expression so wholesome it bordered on sarcasm. He drew a shaky breath at the mention of his Order of the Sparrow name, his eyes fluttering closed, and she bit back a maniacal laugh. Camp Man was affected, all right. That would prove interesting later. "What if we just continued where you left off?"

His tongue flicked out involuntarily, his bottom lip catching on his upper teeth in a way that was very distracting. He nodded, let out a strangled noise that she thought was supposed to be "okay," and brushed his lips against hers. It was the opposite of the clumsy, almost violent kiss from earlier; even their noses bumping together was sweet and tender. Slowly he pressed against her, tilting them back until she was flat against the wall and he held himself up with one hand splayed to the right of her head.

Gwen wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, or which of them broke first. She bit down on that attention-grabbing bottom lip, and his right hand slipped from its position on her hip to the small of her back, crushing her closer with a suddenness that made her gasp. They hadn't talked much about his sexual history — mostly she'd ranted about her exes and he listened with appalled fascination — but she was pretty sure he'd never so much as pecked anyone on the cheek. But damn, he was a hell of a fast learner.

Pulling away felt almost like a tangible loss. "Your room or mine?" she breathed, struggling to catch her breath.

"Which is closer?" His voice was slightly deeper than usual, husky in a way that clenched every muscle below her waist.

Neither of them were willing to separate, so she groped at the wall behind her back, sliding sideways under him until she found a doorknob. They stumbled into the room, catching themselves on her desk as she flicked the light on and he kicked the door shut behind them.

"What?" he asked, a frown of worry creasing his forehead, and she realized she was staring at him.

She snapped her mouth closed, shaking her head to clear it. "Sorry. The door thing was . . . kinda hot."

"Door thing?" He glanced over his shoulder at the closed door, and when he turned back Gwen nearly tackled him, grabbing the sides of his face to kiss him again. He fell back and hit the door with an "oomph!" and a groan of pain as his side grazed the handle and his head bumped the wood, but his arms wrapped around her waist, practically lifting her off the ground.

"Wait. Shit. Hold on a sec." She pulled back, forcing herself to think like a logical adult even though her brain had much better things to focus on. "We should probably talk about this, right?"

David's expression was dazed, and it took him a moment to understand her. "Oh! Of course. I don't want to do anything to offend your honor."

"Honor? The fuck're you talking about?" She snorted, then covered her nose and mouth in embarrassment. "No, it's just I know this is all really new, for both of us —"

"But you've dated before, haven't you?"

"Yeah . . ." Just not anyone who'd actually cared about something like respecting her honor, or boundaries, or . . . well, anything. "This just feels different. And I don't want to rush you into anything."

He nodded, taking a seat on the side of her desk and looking thoughtful. The idea clearly hadn't occurred to him. "It's weird because we've known each other for so long," he mused. "I almost feel like we've been dating forever, just without the, you know . . ."

"Dating part?" He responded with an abashed smile, and she stepped closer, taking his hands in hers. "Listen, it's just that first times are supposed to be a big deal and all, so I totally get if you want to wait for something . . . more special." What that meant she wasn't exactly sure — her first had involved a lot of tequila and the back of a pickup truck — but she pictured rose petals, bubblebath, lots of candles, maybe some of those weird gossamer curtain things. Was it possible to buy rose petals, or would she have to buy the roses and rip them off individually? And were candles against the Employee Handbook? Not that it mattered, considering the rules they were already breaking, but she didn't want to burn the camp down trying to be romantic.

"Special?" He paused for a moment, then beamed. God, she loved how he could smile without it being complicated by all sorts of nagging uncertainties and bitterness. "I'm with you. How could anything be more special?"

It was his casual dismissal of the idea that convinced her. If he'd gone all serious, and declared that she was the woman he'd been waiting for and he'd been imagining this for years or something, she would've known he was putting way too much importance on the expectation of a grand Moment and slammed the brakes. Instead, he simply seemed happy to be there, with no demands of what might — or might not — happen. She had the feeling she could break out _Monopoly_ with no warning and he'd be just as cheerful, because they were doing something together.

On the heels of that thought came another, one that tied a thick knot in her stomach. "Just don't . . . you know, expect something great. I don't know what impression I've given you, but I'm not an expert. I'm not even really good. At, like, anything."

"Me too!" His expression, thrilled at having found another thing they had in common, fell just as quickly. "Come to think of it, I don't know much either . . ."

That didn't exactly come as a surprise. "Good. As long as we're in the same boat, I guess."

Like her words were a charm, his face brightened again. "We can learn together! It'll be so much fun!"

"Christ, settle down, Spongebob." Yet she couldn't help but laugh; he was just so damn excited about everything.

"How can I settle down when there's learning to do?" He grabbed her hands. "Where do we start?"

"Pegging," she replied immediately, her face and voice deadpan. For a second he looked confused, then more than a little terrified as he recognized the word. (She _knew_ he'd been stealing her romances!) Rolling her eyes, she leaned in and kissed him on the corner of the mouth. "How about we just see what happens?"

"Okay!" His shoulders slumped with relief, and he turned his head to meet her lips dead-on. Her hands tangled in his hair, tugging gently, and he murmured, "I'm very happy to be with you, Gwen."

She smiled against his mouth. "You make me happy, too. Now shut up and kiss me."

"Okay!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gwen's ass-related insecurity probably seems out of left field to anyone who has studied her butt as carefully as I have (which must sound super fucking weird to anyone who's never written fanfic and had to look up these kinds of things), because it's totally proportional to the rest of her body. However, either she has elephantitis and no one mentioned it, or she's a cartoon with wider legs than almost all the other characters' combined. I figured the best way to conceptualize this bottom-heaviness without making her a disfigured monster would be to give her a butt that could inspire rap videos. She might just have super muscular calves — and in my head her calves and thighs are both pretty impressive — but I took some creative liberties in redistributing her thickness.
> 
> Also, yes, Gwen accidentally turned David into a feminist by throwing one of her old Psychology textbooks at him. I don't think either of them are aware that's what happened, but it did. Tangentially related, but some David headcanon: Aside from nature, reading is one of his biggest weaknesses. It's why he steals her books all the time (in addition to enjoying a good love story every now and then). His year in the woods involved a lot of reading, because there's only so much to do in the wilderness, and now he has the slightly-compulsive need to at least skim through any book that comes under his nose, especially if it's owned/being read by someone he cares about. He's one of those "books are a window to the soul" people. His favorite genres are biographies about people no one cares about, wilderness survival guides, and romances.
> 
> Finally, THIS IS IMPORTANT READ THIS YOU LOVELY LITTLE MARSHMALLOWS: Originally I'd intended to end this story with them realizing their feelings for each other, getting it on, and all that romantic crap. However, I realized while writing this that a lot of people probably aren't into smut, so I wanted to give this story a satisfactory ending and leave the next chapter as an optional one-shot sort of thing. (And I kinda failed at that, but after half an hour trying to write a pithy final line to this chapter, I decided this would have to be good enough.) So if filth about cartoon characters makes you uncomfortable, I hope you've enjoyed the story and will check out the sequel, which will roll as soon as I've written it and will follow their relationship past the events of the show thus far. If you're a bit more of an adventurous sort, then I'll see you next chapter. :)


	14. Butts & Bodices: A Tigger and Eeyore One-Shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't like a scene out of a YA romance, and it certainly wasn't what they had expected. In fact, like most things that happened at Camp Campbell, it was tinged with awkwardness. It was also the best night either of them could remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STOP RIGHT THERE!* As you may remember from my notes in the last chapter, this is an optional chapter. It is, I'm afraid, straight-up filth. If you don't like filth, you are more than welcome to skip this; there are no important plot or character developments, and you will miss basically nothing. If you'd like to continue, I hope you enjoy it and consider yourself warned! :)
> 
> In case you were curious, these were some alternate title ideas for this chapter: "Camp Campbell is the place for so much fucking awkward," "I really hope no one I know ever reads this," "Maybe if I rip off Ciphernetics enough this will be halfway decent," and "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry."
> 
> In my defense, nobody asked me to write this. (That's a terrible defense.)
> 
> Finally, this chapter is more or less unedited, because my beta wasn't really comfortable working with smut. Which means any suggestions, criticisms, or thrown tomatoes are even more appreciated than usual (ESPECIALLY where characterization is concerned), because we're flying without a co-pilot for the first time. 
> 
> *I GOTTA KNOW RIGHT NOW! Before we go any further do you love me? Will you love me forever? Do you need me? Will you never leave me? Will you make me so happy for the rest of my life, will you take me away will you make me your wife I GOTTA KNOW RIGHT NOW! (Okay, I'll stop now, and probably the worst possible song for this chapter is now stuck in your head. Onward!)

"Okay!"

David's enthusiasm was too cute, but something about his easy obedience was extremely sexy. Gwen couldn't help but wonder how interested he was in following _other_ orders . . . Before her mind went too far down that path, he drew his arms around her waist and pulled her forward until her legs hit the desk. "O-okay?" he asked anxiously, his hands moving down to her hips.

Maybe it was time to establish some ground rules. "Just assume it's okay. I'll tell you if you're not." She was standing between his legs now, and she slid her own hands out of his hair and down his neck, then chest, taking care to be slow and deliberate. He took in a sharp breath as her fingers ghosted over his stomach before finally settling on the bare skin just above his knees. Sitting on the desk made him just a little too tall, so she used her new position as leverage and pushed herself up on tiptoes to tap her forehead against his. "And . . . you? Okay, I mean? With . . . like, this?" A horrible thought occurred to her, and she yanked back like he'd tried to headbutt her. "Shit, I didn't make your head hurt worse, did I? I'm so stupid, god _damn_ it —"

Fuck, she thought she was a babbling idiot normally; it turned out that piling on a whole lot of horniness made her 300 times stupider and less coherent. Fabulous.

David nodded, swallowing hard. The gentle movement of his throat made her mouth go dry. "You're fine, Gwen," he said. "Please don't worry about me. I can tell you if something's wrong."

"Okay . . . good." God, they used the word "okay" more than those awful teenagers in that cancer book. She laughed awkwardly, wondering how people were supposed to go effortlessly from conversation to making out and back again. Every time she interrupted, it felt like diving into cold water.

He didn't seem to have the same self-deprecating monologue holding him back. His eyes crinkling with a smile, he leaned forward to rest his head against hers again. "And please don't call someone I like stupid. It's not nice." Before she could respond — though she didn't feel capable of anything except giggling or squeeing — he dipped his chin to meet her lips, avoiding smashing her nose like they'd done this a hundred times. "Fast learner" started to feel like an understatement. She opened her mouth against his, and after momentarily freezing, he did the same, his tongue brushing against hers shyly at first, then with more confidence.

Gwen was a big fan of confidence, it turned out.

And his tongue, which she missed like a amputated limb as they pulled back to breathe. "Fucking _Christ_ ," she hissed, closing her eyes and resting her forehead on his shoulder. Without looking up at him, she added, "Don't bother with the whole 'language' criticizing bullshit. I really don't care right now." He let out a little hum of assent, leaning forward to flick his tongue against her ear. The full-body shiver that caused was a little humiliating, the high-pitched moan even more so. She pulled away immediately, an apology already on her lips, but the smile he gave her was so wide it wiped away any thought of embarrassment. He was just too delighted — and a little proud of himself.

"Can I tell you a secret?" She leaned in even though they were alone, and probably the only people awake in the whole camp. Pressing a ticklish _smack_ just below her earlobe, he murmured, "I kinda like your language."

Gwen gasped with mock horror, trying not to wriggle away as he found the sensitive spots on her neck and attacked them. "I thought it was setting a bad example for the children, and reflected poorly on the ca- _aaah_ . . ." She trailed off with a sigh as he kissed the little dip above her collarbone, accidentally grazing it with his teeth.

He lifted his head, his lips and chin shiny with the spit he'd trailed down her neck. "I think it's cute," he said with a shrug.

It took a second's pause to think up the ideal string of profanity, especially when so much of her brain's much-needed blood decided it had other places to be. "Then you're gonna fucking love every word out of my goddamn mouth if you keep doing that shit with your tongue, you fucking cunt-tease." His mouth dropped open — it was an impressive display of obscenity — and she took advantage of the moment to throw herself at him, capturing his tongue between her teeth and swallowing his gasp of surprise.

Her room, which always felt like an oven, was suddenly stifling. Or maybe it was just that every inch of her body covered in fabric thrummed with the burning need to be touched. When one of David's hands slid along the hem of her shirt, not quite lifting it but brushing the skin where it had ridden up, she suspected he was feeling the same way. "Too many clothes," she whispered, squeaking as his hand flattened against the small of her back. Shit, he was so _warm_ even through two layers of fabric . . .

He replied with an incoherent noise she assumed was agreement, and she pushed away from him. Stumbling on weak legs to her bed, she hopped up on the stiff mattress and began pulling her hair out of her ponytail with a sigh of relief. As she massaged her scalp and tried to finger-comb away the dent the hair tie had left, she was painfully aware of him watching her as he removed his vest. She debated just ripping off her shirt and throwing it at him, but when he untied his yellow bandanna and lovingly folded both garments, resting them on the desk with no signs of disrobing further, she decided to keep pace with him.

Besides, she now had access to four new inches of David-skin. That could keep her busy for a while.

Jumping down from the bed, she ran her hands through her hair like a model, jutting out one hip and batting her eyelashes. "Beautiful, right?" False bravado wasn't her favorite way to overcome insecurity: she usually preferred insults and walking away quickly, but neither of those seemed appropriate right then. And in that moment, she didn't think she could come up with an insult for him if her life depended on it.

He'd stood as well, but was leaning against the desk with his arms crossed. Though a partial smile tugged at one side of his mouth, his expression was careful, appraising. Oh no, she'd seen looks like that before. They were usually followed with backhanded compliments like, "For someone so thick, I expected your tits to be bigger" or "Wow, I didn't know you were so _black_. I thought you were Mexican?" David didn't seem like the kind of guy who'd say anything like that, but he wouldn't be the first person who'd been less-than impressed, either. Christ, and she hadn't even taken her shirt off yet . . .

"Sorry!" He shook his head and smacked it, wincing in pain. "I didn't mean to stare. I-I know it's rude, I just . . ." She braced herself, keeping her expression neutral, "wanted to remember this."

A knot in her chest that she hadn't even been aware of dissolved. The fucking dork. "Really?" The word slipped out before she could stop herself, revealing exactly what a needy, unconfident person she was.

If he noticed, it didn't seem to bother him. He stepped toward her, one hand hovering uncertainly above her head. "Can I?" When she nodded, he sank his fingers in her hair, using his other hand to lift her chin, but she dodged his lips, ducking her head to explore his newly-exposed neck. She planted a wet, open-mouthed kiss on the underside of his jaw, smiling as he drew a ragged breath and let his head fall back. He tasted mildly salty, his skin smelling of bonfire smoke, sweat, and something that vaguely reminded her of soap mixed with cut grass that could only be described as _green_ , as if he exuded nature from his pores. Moving up, she ran her nose along the hairline behind his ear, her lips skimming the soft skin just below it. Tilting her head to the side, she sucked his earlobe into her mouth, biting down as gently as she could, and was gratified by his fingers clenching in her hair, tugging at follicles oversensitive from being pulled back in a ponytail for hours and making her gasp. "I'm sorry! Did I hurt you?"

"No," she said, kissing down his jaw until she found his lips again. "Or, yes, but . . ." Lifting her hands from his waist, she grabbed a handful of hair and pulled, hard. He let out a little "ah!" of surprise, sending a jolt through her body that made her clit ache. Pressing her thighs together and trying to sound like she wasn't dangerously close to humping his leg, she pecked the smooth, slightly bruised skin below his right eye (an animal attack? Or just his usual clumsiness?) and finished, "it's a good kind of hurt."

"Yeah," he rasped, pushing her back by the shoulders and looking her up and down. His pupils were blown out, which she hoped was a sign of arousal and not a signal to call an ambulance. "Gwen, you're . . . amazing."

Taking the compliment with her usual grace, she headbutted him in the shoulder. "I haven't even _done_ anything yet," she muttered, blushing hard enough to feel it. "Give me a chance to prove how awesome I am first."

For a moment he was speechless. Then, with a visible gulp, he asked, "Wh-what would I do to give you a chance?"

God, she could probably come just from watching him get flustered. It was a massive power trip, made better by the fact that David happened to look pretty fucking good with his skin flushed, his lips swollen, and his hair and clothes mussed to hell. He didn't quite look ravished, but she planned to change that as soon as possible. Hoping her grin looked more sexy and wicked than uncontrollably goofy (the way it felt), she put her hands on her hips and cocked her head to the side, pretending to consider him but really just enjoying the view. When he started fidgeting uneasily, she took pity on him and ordered, "Shirt off. Now," trusting that he'd be honest with her if things were going too fast.

Still, it couldn't hurt to check in. As he reached behind his neck and tugged his camp shirt over his head, she played with the hem of her shirt, walking her fingers up her sides and shivering at the sensation. If he called it off now, she wouldn't feel cheated; he'd keyed her up and provided more than enough mental material to finish the show alone. The vibrator in her nightstand drawer wouldn't completely replace the real thing, but she already felt like he'd given her far more than she deserved. "David." The solemnity in her tone hit him like a glass of cold water. His eyes wide and clear, he folded his shirt and laid it on the floor, watching her carefully the whole time. "How are we doing?"

It normally wasn't her role to be the considerate one. Usually when it came to sex, her job was to hold on and grab whatever pleasure she could before it ended. But he was worth more than that, and she'd rather never touch him again than hurt him. (Though she _really_ hoped it wouldn't come to that.)

"Doing? I'm . . . um . . ." He closed his eyes, presumably to avoid being distracted, and his forehead narrowed in thought. It was both touching and reassuring how seriously he took her question. Opening them again, he met her eyes and said, "I feel good. I'm . . . happy. Really happy."

Gwen teased at her hem, raising it just above her bellybutton and lowering it again. "Keep going or stop? I'm fine either way," she assured him, needing him to understand that he didn't have to worry about disappointing her. "More than fine. Great, actually, so it's up to you."

His eyes followed the shirt's progress up and down her ribs, but she was distracted by the fact that he was worrying his lower lip again, and that the pink flush in his cheeks and ears spread down across his chest. "I-If you wouldn't mind . . ."

Her shirt was over her head and across the room before he could finish his sentence. She didn't usually bother with a bra: in this absurd heat, another layer was practically torture, and it wasn't like she needed the support. But now she wished she had some protective barrier between his gaze and her chest. Some of the _campers_ had bigger breasts than she did, for fuck's sake! If she'd known something was going to happen, she could have used the magic of an extremely aggressive push-up bra and a few well-placed socks to smush together some modest cleavage, but she'd hardly thought to make those kinds of preparations tonight.

 _He's seen you before,_ she told herself, fighting the urge to cross her arms over her chest. Sure, some of her exes had imagined that she had massive tits buried by some female witchcraft to make her look flat-chested while clothed, but they'd been astoundingly stupid in all the ways David wasn't.

_Please don't be disappointed, please don't be disappointed . . ._

"Wow." The word didn't offer Gwen much in the way of consolation, and neither did the oddly neutral tone he said it in. He moved forward, brushing her hair back from her neck and from there running two fingers over her collarbone, down her sternum, and in the valley between her breasts, coming to rest on her waist. "Look at you."

Jesus, he was going to give her an anxiety-induced heart attack. Second base had never been so stressful — probably because she'd never been there with anyone like David. "You mean that in a good way, right?" Not in a _look at how pathetically tiny your tits are, and by the way what the fuck is up with your super-dark nipples?_ way?

She seemed to have a talent for making him speechless, though not always for the sexiest reasons. His expression was somewhere between "are you making fun of me?" and "have you lost your mind?" It made her feel a little better to know she could read him like that, though that satisfaction was tempered a bit by the fact that he was staring at her like she was an idiot. "A good way? Instead of —"

Okay, now she was feeling defensive. "I get that I'm not, like, uh, you know . . ." This would work so much better if she could think of a single famous large-breasted person besides Vin Diesel, though the odds of David picking up on any pop culture reference were far from excellent. Finally giving in to her nerves and wrapping her arms around her chest, she glowered at the carpet and muttered, "I know I look like a guy."

"A _guy?_ Wha — Gwen — that's —" It was a little cute to watch him sputter, especially since she was almost certain it was complimentary. Giving up on speech, he closed the gap between them with a step, crushing his mouth to hers and making her stumble back until her thighs pressed against the bed behind her. It was the first time this much of her body had touched his. He was so warm and _solid_ pressed against her like this; every slide of skin tingled, the blood pounding between her legs leaving her weak and lightheaded. Both for support and because she needed him closer, she hooked her arms under his, hugging his upper back and gripping his shoulders in an attempt to touch as much of him at once as possible. She was actually debating whether he'd crumple like wet cardboard if she wrapped her legs around his waist when he shifted his hips, his cock pressed hard against her thigh. He jumped away like he'd been shocked, running his hands through his hair and looking everywhere but at her. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to . . . um, you know . . ."

Oh, but he was adorable when he was freaking out. Gwen pursed her lips, shaking her head. "Well, cat's out of the bag. I now know that you like me." With an exaggerated shrug and sigh, she put her hands in her pockets and leaned away. "Not sure how I'll _ever_ get over this shock and horror." When he didn't seem amused, but in fact looked even more panicked — _right_ , he didn't speak sarcasm. That was going to be a problem — she followed his gaze until he had no choice but to look her in the face. "If you're just embarrassed because you didn't want me to know you have a dick, I dunno what to tell you, 'cause I'd sort of guessed that. But if you're upset because your body's going faster than you want to, you gotta let me know." She looped her arms around his neck, and his hands automatically settled just below her waist. "We can stay on second base if you want. I'm having a good time here."

"It's not that! I just . . . don't want you to feel pressured."

She wanted to tease him and say that his boner didn't exactly intimidate her, but she was worried he'd take it as an insult. (It wasn't his fault dicks were kinda ridiculous.) "I want you to be happy, whatever that means. If that means trying to make you come so hard you black out —" Pretending she felt much more sexy than she did, she rolled her hips forward, rubbing herself against him — "that'd be fun, but only if you want it."

She was starting to enjoy the idea of being the confident, dominant one. It went against all of her natural instincts, but the way David bit back a moan and gripped her so hard she was going to wake up with nail marks was worth any awkwardness she felt. "Ohhh, Gwen," he whimpered, his head falling back and his eyes squeezing shut as she repeated the motion, leaning in and sucking the skin under his ear. He was breathing in short, shaky pants, his creamy skin mottled an uneven pink from arousal. Would it be weird if she told him he was beautiful? "A-are you sure you want to — please don't feel like you have to do anything just for me, when I'm, uh, I'm not . . ."

Gwen had been so worried about her own insecurities that it hadn't even occurred to her that David might think she wasn't interested, or doing this out of obligation. But when he opened his eyes to look down at her, they were anxious and doubtful. Like _he_ was the lucky one out of the two of them, and he didn't want to be greedy.

What a sweet idiot.

Fuck, if he wanted her to be selfish, she could do that. Forcing herself to let go of the fear that he was just doing this to be polite (which made no logical sense, but neither did the fact that he was here instead of in his room, having phone sex with a bubbly platinum-haired girlfriend) she took his hands and pressed them against her chest, gasping as his callused palms grazed her nipples. Letting go of his wrists, she slid one hand between them and palmed his erection. The strangled noise he made sent a jolt of warmth to her lower belly. "David, I don't do charity. I'm not nice like you. So if I do _this_ —" She tightened her grip, and a shudder ran through his body "— it's because I want to, because the idea of getting you off is so hot it's all I can think about."

" _Jeez_ ," he hissed, saying the family-friendly word like it was the most heinous obscenity. His hands falling from her breasts, he bent his head and closed his lips around one of her nipples, swirling his tongue around it with a contented hum.

If he'd learned this from romance novels, she'd let him borrow her entire library. No, she'd _demand_ he borrow it, and take notes. He flicked his tongue back and forth over the tender nub, and the moan that burst from her lips was embarrassing. "Sorry. Shutting up," she breathed, slapping her unoccupied hand over her mouth. ( _"Babe, do you have to be so_ loud? _It's really distracting."_ )

David looked up at her, surprised. "Please don't!" he said, moving up to her mouth. His lips were puffy and damp, and the touch of them was as electrifying as if they hadn't kissed in weeks, not minutes. Pulling away to catch his breath, his nose bumped awkwardly against hers. "You sound wonderful." As if in agreement, his cock twitched in her hand, and she couldn't quite stifle a laugh that turned quickly into a sigh as he devoted his attention to her jaw. He painted a burning wet line down her neck and up the faint swell of her neglected right breast. She grabbed a fistful of his hair and arched her back, as though he needed encouragement to continue what he was doing. She felt him smile against her nipple, and was about to ask what was funny when his teeth skimmed, ever so lightly, over the pebbled skin.

" _Shit_ , David!" Without thinking, Gwen hooked her left leg around his waist and drew him against her, balancing herself on the bed with the arm that had been between them. The new position held him against her clit, just enough to drive her insane. He inhaled sharply and pulled his head back, the rush of cold air sending goosebumps down her chest and stomach. She curled up against his chest and ground hard on him, releasing his hair to clutch at his shoulders and burying her nose in the hollow between his neck and collarbone. It took a few tries to find a rhythm, but when they did . . . "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god you're going to fucking kill me," she babbled, a brain cell dying every time the friction was _almost_ enough but not quite. She'd read sex scenes where someone sobbed from frustration, but she never really believed that happened in real life.

Well, learn something new every day, because she was a few minutes away from crying like someone had canceled _Doctor Who_.

David groaned, digging his fingers into the skin just behind her left knee. "Up," he murmured, and she hopped onto the bed without hesitation, laying back and tangling her hands in her hair until the tug was just a little more than painful. He lifted her right leg and wrapped it around his waist as well, his hips jerking involuntarily as they were forced closer together. "Is this —" he drew in a shaky breath "— okay?"

"N-no," she stammered, and he dropped her legs like they were white-hot. Before he could back away or apologize, she grabbed his hand, pulling it to her lips and kissing his knuckles to alleviate his worry. Sitting up took more effort than she'd expected, her head spinning with confused horniness, but she managed a trembly smile. "Sorry." God, this was mortifying. She didn't think she was the begging type, but she'd throw herself at his feet if he wanted. Fucking hell, she'd _kiss_ his feet, and she knew what his shoes smelled like! Avoiding his eyes, she wiped her sweaty hands against her thighs and admitted, "I just . . . really need you to fuck me." Shit, was that too coercive? "Unless you don't want to, which is fine, but I just can't do . . . that anymore. It's too —" Too what? Too much? Too little?

She didn't know, exactly. She just knew if she didn't come soon she was going to lose her mind.

"Ah." An awkward laugh made her look up. His face was redder than even this situation warranted, and now he was the one who couldn't quite look at her. "That sounds . . . amazing." His tone didn't match his words, nor did the heavy sigh that followed them. After a moment of silence, he added — slowly, like he was hoping she'd interrupt him at any point — "I just need to . . . um, take care of something first." Turning abruptly, he strode over to the window and opened it, putting his head in his hands and letting in the warm post-rain breeze.

This was only a little terrifying. "Uh, David?" She got up and started to head over, but he stopped her without turning around.

"Please don't . . . say anything. Just for a second." His voice was strained, so she waited patiently, watching the pine-tree-shaped clock Mr. Campbell had installed above all the doors in the camp. After almost a minute and a half had passed in silence, he sighed and pushed away from the window, slamming it shut. "Well, that didn't work," he said with an oddly cheerful resignation.

"What? What didn't work?"

He gave her an embarrassed smile and a shrug. "I was just . . . thinking of the most unattractive things I could." _Oh_. Her eyebrows shot up, and he blushed even darker. "And now I'm going to go . . . be right back. And then I'll be better And less . . . well, you know."

"Can I watch?" she blurted out, covering her mouth too late. What kind of freak asked to watch someone jerk off? Would he think she was a total pervert? (Then again, he'd seen the kinds of things she read, so maybe he already thought that.)

"Um . . . yeah. Sure." For a second they just stared at each other, David seeming as startled by his answer as she was. Then they both started giggling uncontrollably. "A-are you coming?" he asked when he'd gotten some control over himself, walking over to the door and holding it open for her.

"I thought you were." Her voice cracked on the last word, and she nearly bent over double with laughter. She was such a fucking child.

Luckily, she wasn't the only one. As she staggered to her feet, about to apologize for her behavior, she saw that he had his fist pressed against his lips, his shoulders shaking. "This is the most uncomfortable thing I've ever done," he said lightly, following her into the shared counselors' bathroom and standing in the middle of the room. He pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath.

"Can I help?" Gwen had gotten them into this situation, after all. And while there was something unbelievably hot about the idea of watching David, she suddenly wanted nothing more than to touch him without clothing in the way.

His exhale caught in his throat, coming out somewhere between a cough and a whine. He nodded weakly, then looked around like he didn't know what to do next.

Her frustration had tapered off to a dull ache, but it sharpened deliciously as she stepped to his side, wrapping her right arm around his waist and resting her cheek against his shoulder. "Show me how you do it," she whispered. Bumping his left hand with the back of hers, she waited for him to get the hint and link their fingers. "I assumed you're a southpaw." Something about that sentence made her laugh again, and she shook her head helplessly as he looked down at her, puzzled. "I-I'm sorry . . . I'm just really, really happy." And it was true; though she'd been dangerously close to tears just a few minutes ago, now her chest felt like it was full of champagne, light and bubbly and ticklish.

"Me too." He lifted their entwined fingers to raise her chin and gave her a long kiss. When he pulled back, her insane urge to giggle was gone, but the elation remained.

"Okay, then." She wriggled against his side, pretending to get comfortable but mostly just taking the opportunity to brush her nipples against his skin. It relieved a bit of the pressure between her legs, though not much. "So . . . how do you like it?"

Her voice had been teasing, but his hand tightened around hers, his skinny chest rising with a sharp intake of breath. Their eyes met in the mirror that covered the wall opposite them, and he swallowed visibly. "Right. Um . . ." He let go of her to unzip his shorts, pulling his cock out with a nervous glance at her. It was the first uncircumcised dick she'd ever seen in real life, but she kept from expressing her excitement and looking like a total weirdo. (It _was_ pretty cool, though. Like running into a celebrity you'd heard of but never met.) He arranged her fingers around him, covering her hand with his and showing her how to push the foreskin up over the head and back again. He started slowly, closing his fingers over hers so that she gently squeezed him at the base. "Yeah, you just . . ." David shivered, and she dragged her eyes away from his cock to their reflection. His eyes were closed, and he sucked part of his bottom lip into his mouth. "That. Like that."

Holy shit, this was the hottest thing she'd ever done. All the kinky books she read, all the things she'd done and fantasized about, and it was a goddamn _handjob_ that made her legs feel unbearably weak and shaky. But of course it wasn't the handjob — it was David.

She was the goddamn luckiest person in the entire world.

His breathing roughened, and they sped up their movements. "T-t-told you," he gasped, his other hand clenching into a fist. "Wasn't gonna — gonna last long."

Gwen didn't want him to last long. She wanted to make him fall apart, unravel him with her hands and lips and cunt until he couldn't speak. She wanted him helpless, and desperate, and broken. Another time, she thought, turning her face away from the mirror to hide her smile.

But he'd noticed. "Is everything . . . all right? You can s-stop if you want to."

"Fuck, no," she said, her breathing starting to speed up as well. "Just have some ideas for later." Speaking of ideas . . . Making sure she didn't interfere with her hand's occupation, she licked her lips and kissed her way up his neck, being deliberately sloppy with it. When she reached his ear, she licked the outer shell, making him whimper. "You don't really believe I want you, do you?" she whispered.

Their hands stuttered to a stop, precome leaking from the head. She had just enough time to admire his willpower when she caught his reflection in the mirror. He was staring at her with wide-eyed horror. "What?"

"What?" Then she realized how she'd sounded, like this was the most cruel and elaborate practical joke ever. "No, nonono!" Letting go of him, she grabbed his face and kissed him hard and long enough to hopefully communicate the misunderstanding. "Okay, that sounded really shitty, but I just meant . . . I have trouble believing you like me, sometimes, because you're like way out of my league. And . . . I think maybe you feel the same way, so I wanted to prove . . ." Dragging her fingernails down his chest, she savored the way his breath caught and the visible shudder that went through him. Running her hand along his mostly-erect cock, she rubbed her thumb over his slit, slicking the precome over his head. "Can you take it from here? I need both hands free."

Still looking a little apprehensive, he took himself in hand, too close to coming to object.

Gwen ducked out from under his arm and moved to his other side, squeezing his right hand in both of hers before releasing it to unbutton her shorts and slide them off her hips. Her underwear followed, a move she regretted immediately upon looking down. Shit, when was the last time she'd bothered to groom? Hopefully his love of the wilderness extended to overgrown pubes, because there wasn't anything she could do about it now.

Feeling aggressively unsexy and so, so vulnerable standing naked in the middle of the bathroom, she glanced up at him. David was staring at her in awe, almost worship. Stripping in front of him seemed to prove she was serious, because he tenderly brushed her cheek with the backs of his knuckles. His smile disappeared as he pressed his lips together and his hand sped up, his eyelids fluttering closed.

Glad to surprise him, she pulled his free hand from her face and drew it down her body until it brushed against her damp curls. He opened his eyes with a strangled gasp. "Gwen . . . ?"

She pressed two of his fingers against her entrance, slick and pillowy with desire. "I want you," she said, pausing to make sure every word registered. It took just a twitch of her hand to slide him into her, and they both groaned at the feeling. "See? Nothing to . . . _mmhm_ , worry about." He brushed against the front wall of her pussy and her hips bucked; she was pretty sure that was a world record for the fastest discovered g-spot. Thank God for big hands and long fingers. " _David_ ," she moaned, pressing her forehead against his chest and trying to keep her legs from quaking.

His body went taut, and she opened her eyes. The first thing she saw were his bare feet, his toes curling and flexing against the tile. Then he choked out her name and pressed his face into her hair, and she watched the mirror as he came, jerking and trembling and incoherent. His fingers spasmed inside her, hitting that ridged spot mercilessly and getting her so _so close_ , but just shy of the edge. When he recovered and pulled out of her, she gritted her teeth to keep from whining like a sad dog.

"Thank you," he mumbled wearily against the top of her head.

"No problem. Feel free to repay the favor anytime." She was mostly kidding. Like, half-kidding. Her cunt wasn't kidding at all, but she more or less wrestled the feelings of "oh my god somebody fuck me now" into a little corner of her mind.

Neither of his hands were especially clean, so with a grunt of effort he pulled away from her and washed his hands in the sink, and she grabbed a handful of paper towels and cleaned up what hadn't been caught on his hand. Though, when he thought she wasn't looking, he stuck the fingers of his right hand into his mouth before rinsing them off; she cringed, but his smile was pleasantly bemused, so she figured it must taste all right.

As soon as Gwen stood up and threw the towels away, he hauled her into his arms. Aside from the fact that she was naked and until a few seconds ago he'd had his dick out, it felt like a hug she'd get from him any day. That was reassuring. It meant that he was still David, no matter what.

And, being David, he wasn't so tired he'd miss a crucial detail. "What about you?"

"Me?" A significant part of her brain was shrieking _me, me, DON'T FORGET ABOUT ME!_ , but she kept her voice casual and light. "What about me?"

He wasn't buying her forced nonchalance. "Come on! Let me learn," he said, pulling her from the bathroom (she snagged her clothes off the floor as she was dragged past) and into her room. He flopped down onto the bed, sitting with his legs criss-crossed and his hands on his knees, his back straight and his expression eager and expectant. She had the hilariously uncomfortable idea that she was looking at a much-older version of Davey Greenwood, camper. "What should I do?"

"I don't know . . ." In her experience, clitoral stimulation was usually perfunctory and mechanic, performed like a chore to be done before actual sex could happen. While that'd made her the queen of fake orgasms, it didn't give her a clue about how to teach someone who actually seemed to care. She shifted her weight, wondering if he was as aware as she was of how much being naked didn't flatter her. "I guess . . . maybe sit against the headboard?"

Their beds were narrow and uncomfortable — good old Cameron Campbell, not spending a dime more than he had to — but David leaned back on her pillows like they were in the Ritz or something. "Oh!" He wriggled out of his shorts, looking a bit like a fish flopping on land, until he was sitting on her bed in his boxers with a contented sigh. "There we go! Wait, is that okay?"

Considering she was _still_ less clothed than he was, she just rolled her eyes affectionately and settled on the bed in front of him, nudging between his legs and laying back against his chest with her head resting on his left shoulder. Focusing on not being a complete spaz, she reached back and took his right hand, bringing it up so it was lying flat on her stomach. She was lucky he had orangutan arms, but still . . . "Is this uncomfortable for you? I know it's kinda a reach."

"Nope!" He straightened out his right leg, his breathing speeding up slightly like he was as nervous as she was.

"Okay. So, you put your fingers _here_ , and —" She had been at such a high state of arousal for so long that just the brush of his fingertips made her skin prickle. Pressing his three middle fingers a little harder against her clit, one to each side and one against the top of the hood, she tilted her head back and breathed, "That little bump? Is your new best friend."

"Nice to meet you," he said hoarsely, wiggling his fingers lightly in a kind of "handshake" that sent a shudder through her.

"Wait, one more thing." Taking his hand again, she dipped his fingers between her thighs, gliding them up and down her slit until they were practically dripping. Usually she preferred less lubrication, but David's fingertips were slightly rough from . . . chopping down trees or tying knots or whatever the fuck he did when he went camping. Returning them to position, Gwen sighed, melting back against his chest. "Much better." She guided him in slow counterclockwise circles, forgoing the gentle teasing and stroking of her folds that she usually enjoyed.

Fuck that. She'd been teased more than enough.

" _Holyfuckingshit_!" She threw her head back and bucked, slipping his fingers off her clit. "Sorry," she gasped, repositioning them and urging him to move with her hips. "I'm my own worst enemy sometimes."

"N-no problem." His voice was strained, making her wonder if his hand was getting tired or something — a worry that dissolved as she felt the familiar tightening in deep inside her.

"Oh god, don't stop don't stop don'tstopohhhhmygoddd —" Gwen clutched at the headboard behind them, turning her head to the side and mouthing at the side of David's neck, her breath coming in desperate pants. She hung suspended there for what seemed like eternity, until a twitch of his fingers dropped the floor out from under her and she spiraled into a free fall. Speech failing her, all she could manage were quiet, high-pitched mewls that rode the waves of each staccato breath. "Wow," she finally moaned, collapsing against him like a ragdoll and pulling his hand away from her. "Not fucking bad."

They were quiet for a minute, breathing heavily in the thick, humid air. "I'll move in a sec," she promised, squeezing her thighs together and shivering at the sharp pleasure of her oversensitive clit. "I just need to . . . remember how limbs work."

David's arms wrapped around her, his chin tucked against the top of her head. "Please take your time."

"Mmkay, I'm good now." She forced herself to sit up with a grunt, relishing the way their sweaty skin tried to stick together. Turning halfway so she was facing him, she gave him a slow, lazy kiss. "How're you doing?"

"Heh, well, actually . . ." He shifted awkwardly, turning bright red, and she noticed he was hard again. _You've got to be kidding me. The fuck kind of refractory period is that?_

"Now?" He shrugged and bit his lip, and she felt herself grinning uncontrollably. (She smiled a lot when she was alone with David, she realized — at least, a lot by her standards. That probably should've been a clue, looking back.) He gave her a tentative answering smile, and Confident Gwen kissed him, clutching a handful of his hair and jerking his head back. "Naked. Now." As she moved back to give him room to remove his boxers, she realized there was something very important they hadn't discussed. "Um, I — I got tested back in . . . December? That was the last time I, you know." Man, _that_ had been a huge mistake. She hoped Greg wasn't still creeping around her neighborhood; he'd mostly given up on that around March, but she suspected every time he was dumped he'd return for a few days, just to keep an eye on her. "Everything came back negative. I'm totally, like, clean. I have the report in my desk at home, I can text Claire and have her take a picture of it or something, if you don't want to take my word for it." It was barely midnight, so her roommate should still be awake.

"Oh. No, I trust you." If David was bothered by her having a sexual history, he didn't show it. In fact, he looked a little hurt that she thought he needed photographic evidence. His expression softened and he kissed her cheek. "Though, now that you mention it . . ."

Right. She pointed at the bedside table. "Second one down. The Quartermaster, uh, puts condoms in the all the second-aid kits. I've been hiding them in there so the kids don't ask questions."

Chuckling, David sat up on his knees and stretched toward the second drawer. Gwen sat back on her heels with her knuckles pressed to her lips, enjoying the view of his pale, narrow back and adorably tiny ass. A sudden squeak snapped her out of her daze, and she saw he was holding her sleek black vibrator by its cord. "Um, is this . . . ?"

Fighting the urge to giggle, she chewed on the inside of her cheek and said, "There's a wireless one in there, too. Pink, less powerful, probably better for beginners." She knew that hadn't been what he was asking at all, and the dark flush that spread from his ears to his chest was the exact reaction she'd been hoping for. "Maybe another time, though? I need to buy more lube, anyway." He nodded quickly, maybe not in agreement as much as to end the conversation. Snagging one of the foil squares by the corner, he turned back, holding it in both hands like he was offering it to her. It occurred to her that she'd never put a condom on a guy; her exes usually prided themselves in their familiarity with a rubber. "Sooo I don't really know how to, uh . . . I guess this is what Google's for?"

"N-no, actually, I . . ." Gingerly tearing the packet, he rolled it over himself like it was no big deal.

Gwen had to touch the underside of her chin to make sure her mouth wasn't hanging open. "Excuse me?"

Avoiding her eyes, he mumbled, "I might've . . . bought some a few years ago. To practice."

She burst out laughing before she could stop herself. "Oh my god, that's so cute!"

"I was a _kid!"_ he said defensively, wrapping his arms over his chest.

"Really? When was this?"

David gnawed at his lower lip. "Two years ago."

 _Don't squee, don't squee_ . . . She lunged forward, throwing her arms around his neck and capturing his lower lip between her teeth. "Come here, you dork."

Neither of them needed any more foreplay; even with the conversation break, they were both so on edge that the idea of going slow was unthinkable. He sat back against the headboard, letting her get comfortable as she straddled his hips and lined herself up with him. "You ready?" she asked, holding his cock steady to guide it into her.

"God, yes," he groaned, running his hands down her sides and over her ass, then back up, like he was trying to prove she was real. "Please," he added quickly.

"Well, thank Christ you still have your manners," she teased, lowering herself onto him slowly enough for her body to remember what this felt like. When her hips were flush against his, she let out a shuddering breath and pressed her forehead against his, rolling her hips and sliding up slightly to get used to the feeling. His hands tightened around her hips, just hard enough to hurt, and although he managed a gentle smile, his lips were trembling like he was about to cry or scream. Taking pity on him, she rose onto the balls of her feet and sank back down again, rocking forward when he was fully inside her.

David threw his head back, hitting it against the headboard with a heavy thunk that would probably hurt later, but he seemed oblivious to at the moment. His eyes rolled back, the muscles in his jaw clenching. "Gwen, I — oh god, oh fuck, fuck, _fuck_ —"

Tonight was full of surprises. "L- _language_ , David!" That earned a breathless laugh, which quickly turned into a whine as she sped up, riding him as hard as her exhausted muscles could take and feeling a sadistic stab of pleasure as he tried, and failed, to keep quiet. "I thought c-counselors didn't swear."

He grabbed her by the back of the neck, their teeth clicking together as he drew her in for a bruising kiss. "Bad influence."

Jesus, he was going to kill her. How had they gone almost four years without ever doing this? "Can I . . ." Forgetting the words for what she wanted, she pressed her left hand against his chest for balance, the other sliding down her body until she circled her clit with one finger. "This?"

"Jeez, Gwen" — she could practically _feel_ his effort to keep his language camp-appropriate — "do you re-eally think I'd say no to you?"

That did it. That, the increasingly-frantic motions of her finger, and the way her every inner ridge fluttered and clenched with his movements. She came with a loud cry, raking the fingernails of her left hand down his chest as she curled forward into him. Reading her desire for closeness, he slid his hand from her neck into her hair, cradling her against his shoulder even as his hips jerked brutally and he pulsed deep inside. She closed her eyes, savoring the gentleness of his hands and his pounding heartbeat against her walls. "I like you," she mumbled sleepily as he came to a stop, his breath harsh and ragged next to her ear.

He started to answer, but was cut off by a pained hiss as she started to climb off of him. Biting her lip to keep from looking smug, she rolled to the side and watched him gingerly get out of bed, holding his over-stimulated cock by the base like it was going to fall off. Turning up to the ceiling and listening to the gasp that could only be pulling the condom off, she called, "Can you open the windows? And turn off the light?"

Once these duties were accomplished, David collapsed on the bed next to her, nuzzling her neck like it wasn't three billion degrees in the room. "I need a shower," he mumbled against her skin, sounding far too tired to move.

"The shower will be there in the morning," she replied, pulling his arm over her waist and wriggling over to make more room for him. "Now sleep."

"Mmmm." He had the enviable ability to drop off immediately, so she was surprised when he broke the silence a few seconds later. "I like you too, Gwen."

Smiling in the dark, she snuggled up against his side and went to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be brutally honest with me, kiddos: On a scale of 1 to E.L. James, how bad is it? Because this is my first-ever smut fic, and I have all the sexual experience of . . . uh, David. So it might be hilariously inept. Also, fun fact: This chapter is 8,290 words! Which means it's almost 21 percent of the story proper. That's, like, insanely long, but hey, I'm making up for the complete lack of Daven/Gwenvid smut out there. Somebody's gotta do it, apparently, so here I am. :)
> 
> Also, Gwen is the most insecure bunny in the world, and I love her for it.
> 
> If I haven't lost all of my readers, keep an eye out for the sequel to this story! It'll basically follow these two past the events of the show. There may be more filth, I haven't decided yet. I guarantee that there will be lots and lots of fluff.


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